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oddinary4bts · 10 months

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Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

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And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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holycryptid · 1 month

Text

Tears of Blood

König x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 3.0k

Tags/warnings: unprotected sex, light choking, mentions of murder/blood (look who we’re working with), mentions of ghostsoap (yay!), explicit language, some fluff, dry humping, friends with benefits…? (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: König reveals a very compelling detail about himself while you prepare him for tomorrow's deployment—also inspired by this post/ask and bluegiragi’s art <3

Notes: this has been posted on AO3 for over a year and i just straight up forgot to post it here, too…oops

The barracks are eerily quiet after curfew. So quiet, in fact, that a ghost couldn’t even float around without being heard. Sometimes there is one, he’s just not of the conventional sort.

You’ve learned that Soap gladly let’s his room be haunted most nights.

König never says a word about it. If he did, he’d be a hypocrite. Especially now, as he drifts to the door of your room: after curfew.

By now, you know to leave it unlocked for him. You don’t know when it started becoming habit, but it did. A mindless gesture that makes his lips quirk under the hood when he turns the knob and feels the door give in with no resistance.

You’ve grown used to seeing his figure loom in the doorway, but sometimes your brain forgets it’s just him, and your heart instinctually stutters a beat out of fear as you see the shadows from the dim lighting hug around his broad, towering form—just as imposing and threatening even without the gear.

You’ve mentally noted that not everyone that casts their gaze, usually a fearful and watery one, upon him lives to do so again. But you are fortunate. You never let yourself forget what he’s been trained to do—what he does. He doesn’t like to indulge in it much, if at all, and his hesitance to do so makes you think it’s better if you don’t know the complicated details anyway.

KorTac has quite a different reputation than the 141. König helped make sure of that.

You finish folding the rest of your civvies, tucking them away in their small drawer, and toss a look over your shoulder to the man lingering in the doorway. “See any ghosts?” you muse, prompting König to step in and lock the door behind him.

A breathy chuckle fills the room. “Didn’t see anything, but I wish these rooms were soundproof.”

“Oh, no.” You hold a cackle, hand slapped over your mouth as you meet his amused eyes through the rough-edged holes of his hood.

“Well, that’s just Soap for you. Not even Ghost can shut him up, I guess.” You plop onto your bed with a sigh to compose yourself.

You know Soap will indulge you later.

“So, how may I be of service to the king?” You offer a playful smile as he stands at the foot of your bed. The unexpected nickname making him more interested in the flooring.

He brings a finger up to the black hood, hooking it in by his jaw and pulling to reveal a sizeable gash in the fabric. A close call with a knife if you ever saw one. “Needle and thread.”

He unhooks his finger and drags the worn material off of his head, then the plain black balaclava that hides him further under it follows. He drops both onto your clean sheets in front of him, rounding the corner of the bed and joining you.

Dark red hair flops over his forehead and hangs in thick, wavy strands. It hasn’t quite reached his shoulders yet, but it’s long enough to have a mind of its own. It’s a colour you don’t come across too often; maybe comparable to a chestnut, or old leaves in autumn before they disappear under a blanket of snow.

“Jeez, you ever gonna cut this?” You turn to face him and run a hand up the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the dense locks and lightly scratching his scalp on the way down.

Soft blue eyes glance to you, still outlined in black from earlier. “Probably not. Can’t find the time.” His accent gently rounds out the vowels as he leans into your touch.

“Let me braid it for you, then. To hold it back. I know you deploy again tomorrow.” You tuck a strand behind his ear, following with a fleeting kiss right above his cheekbone. A faint blush creeps over his temples and the barely-there freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

“I promise it won’t be the worst thing ever,” you gently plead. “You can mend your hood in peace while I do it?”

You’ve definitely done worse together. But worse always seems to be easier.

“Okay.”

Usually these nights don’t go like this.

3 days ago

“Oh, that’s good—right there. Yeah. Yeah,” you nearly sob. König holds you against him, left arm reaching across your chest and hand comfortably gripping your throat as you try to roll your hips back against him harder.

His other hand is between your thighs—on your clit—which are dangling over his own to keep you spread. You’re trapped there; under his arms and over his legs as he jerks his hips up to meet your disjointed riding on the rickety office chair.

An empty briefing room. Not really smart, but Soap passed on that it was “out of service” until next week, not knowing that you’d end up in there sat on König’s cock later that afternoon.

The fabric of König’s hood rubs uncomfortably against your cheek, making you drop your head back onto his shoulder to escape it.

A breathy moan rushes past his lips as you arch your back. “No, no. You’re staying right here.” He tightens and corrects the grip he has across your chest, sliding his gloved fingers up under your jaw to keep you locked in place.

His cock slides itself in and out of you with little resistance, which would usually be slightly embarrassing if it was anyone else inside you, but the way he’s been massaging your clit with such attentiveness and grinding his hips into yours makes you forget anything you could be worried about.

The only thing you can think of right now is how good this orgasm is going to be.

Your hands snake themselves up his arm that’s pinned to your front to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life as his small thrusts become rougher. “You get much, much wetter when you’re close,” he observes. His index finger holds a steady rhythm on your clit as it works counterclockwise over you. “Fuck, I can hear it…can you?”

A whine bubbles in your throat. The zipper of his cargo pants bites against your ass on every downstroke, and you can feel how wet you’ve made the front of his pants. That’s what he gets for only caring enough to pull his cock out while he ripped your cargos off entirely.

“I—fuck. Yes, I’m close, yes,” you choke out, daring to cast your gaze upon where your bodies are connected.

You’re swollen and slick and you can hear it, too. The quick, sharp slaps of his hips against your ass does little to hide the hungry squelching of your cunt. You’ve probably dripped all down his balls at this point. He’s always happier with a big mess in the end anyway.

“Cum when you’ve had enough, Schatzi,” he chirps in your ear, breathless and lost in the wet, suffocating warmth of you—all his doing, of course. The result of far too many minutes spent with his thick cock gently sliding between your folds and nudging itself over your throbbing clit, just to be annoying, before he moved you both to the chair.

You drag in a heavy breath, focusing on the stretch of his cock deep inside your walls as the chair creaks with every desperate drop onto him.

Schatzi. “W-what does that mean?”

You’ve naturally picked up a few German words and phrases here and there from time spent with him, but this one was new. A term of endearment? A degrading nickname? Either could be possible in this moment. The sound and pronunciation couldn’t be more ambiguous to you.

“König?” It came out as a whisper, quickly silenced by the release of your orgasm throughout your body as he forces you down to the base of his cock.

—

You haven’t brought it up since. Neither has he.

Even now it sits in the back of your mind as you divide his hair down the middle into two parts. You remain on your bed, he sits on the floor between your knees with a needle and black thread in hand that he retrieved from the bedside table (stashed there specifically for him).

He lays the hood over his left arm and begins to stitch it quietly as you wind three generous strands of his hair between your fingers at the front of his scalp, pulling taught at the root. You carefully thread more hair in from the sides to have it lay perfectly against the top of his skull when finished. You’ll do a matching one on the right side.

“Let me know if it hurts at all,” you warn as you begin tugging more hair into place.

“Ha, I’ve faced adversaries far worse than your little hands,” he laughs, adjusting the hood in his hand as he pokes the needle in again.

The long vermillion markings under the eye sockets stare back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

It’s hard to not be curious about all of the parts that make up “König”. The mask is one of them.

“Why the tears?” you ask confidently while you establish the first braid.

“Hm?” He quirks his head to follow your voice, pausing the followthrough with the thread as you give an accidental yank to his hair.

“Your mask…under the eyes. Why tears?” You figured it was either something symbolic or just his personal taste. Everyone’s got a gimmick.

It seems like every aspect of his existence is a test of one’s curiosity, and you may have just failed.

He focuses his attention back on the stitch he was occupied with. “Fear tactic.” Oh.

Short and sweet. Simple and straightforward. It makes sense—

“I make them with the blood of my targets.” Oh.

Your fingers lose their rhythm for a moment, caught off-guard by the admission. Not so much surprised by the fact that he would do something like that, but rather that he confessed such a thing…to you.

“So you do that…presently?” How could you resist following up about that? It’s the perfect snare. This is the most you’ve gotten from him in weeks.

A beat of measured silence, yet it’s not uncomfortable. He likes to think about what to say, how to say it, before speaking his thoughts spontaneously.

“Only if I believe it’s truly deserved,” he explains. His tone doesn’t reveal if he’s displeased with the topic of work. “The blood actually doesn’t hold up against the black on its own, so Horangi suggested using bleach underneath so it will show better. If needed.” He runs a finger over a washed-out tear track. “Less maintenance with the chemical.”

It’s…it’s morbid, obviously, but you’re not sure if you expected anything less from someone in this line of work. And, of course, leave it to Horangi to feed the fantasy. They are nearly inseparable, besides the times that König’s with you.

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine him as murderous or malevolent—König, who has the most gentle, innocent blue eyes that have offered nothing but kindness to you, even in moments of fierce, consuming pleasure. König, who you’ve never seen, or heard, raise his voice at anyone in anger. König, who despises small talk because he can’t stand the awkwardness.

König, who enjoys the vibrant red sunsets on base and thunderstorms. König, who prefers blueberries over strawberries. König, who is obsessed with entomology books.

But there’s still another part of him that can take out entire platoons of enemies and have no more than a rip in his beloved hood afterwards.

The man under the facade of a callsign and reputation is someone who you may never truly meet, no matter how much he reveals. It feels like you’ve only met half of him despite knowing as much as you do about him, and that fact has settled as an ache in your chest.

“I see…I know it’s not really my place to ask about that stuff, but it’s hard to not wonder about you sometimes.” You’ve reached the end of the first braid, leaving the tail to sit at the crown of his head amongst the uneven layers he has going on.

You tie it off with a small black elastic. It’s a little messy considering the awkward length of his hair, but it looks like it’s meant to be there.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.” He gives a comforting laugh, amused at your timidness.

In every facet, he’s right. You can’t help but nod your head in agreement with a small smile, despite the fact that he can’t see your expression. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

You begin the start of the second, and final, braid, grabbing the three strands at the front and twisting them into place as he speaks again. “I know it was my size that drew you to me in the first place,” he states confidently, shoulders shaking in amusement at the tease.

Your mouth gapes in feigned offence. “Wow, okay. Is that a crime?”

“No, not in my eyes. Look, look,” he brushes past the sarcasm, holding and stretching the now intact hood out in front of him to see the effectiveness of his handiwork. The seam is near invisible in the sea of black fabric (a ratty t-shirt).

It’s definitely better than the last one he did a few weeks ago. “Damn, that’s pretty fucking impressive. I’m almost done, hold on.” You hurry to tie off the hair, gently holding the sides of his head to see how even they came out. “Looks good, from up here at least. Come sit, let me see the front.” You pat one of his shoulders, freeing him from the cage of your legs and scooting further onto your bed.

“Danke. My spine didn’t love that, though,” he says with a theatric exhale.

He folds the hood in his lap, setting it on the bedside table with the needle and roll of thread. He all but tumbles back onto the soft sheets, groaning as he stretches his neck and shoulders out and lays comfortably on his back, long legs hanging over the side of the mattress.

His eyes flutter shut from the homely feeling of being in—or on—your bed. “Mm, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

You acknowledge his thought with a small hum as you lean over his restful form to quickly assess his hair, dragging your fingertips along each side lightly. The shaggy hair will always suit him. It frames his cheekbones and jaw perfectly.

König opens his eyes at your touch. “So how does it look, doc? Will I survive deployment now?”

Another smile from you with a slight roll of your eyes. “I think it’ll do the job. Now go clean the black off your eyes if you’re staying. I don’t want it all over my pillows again.”

—

Soap saw the braids in König’s hair the next day before they deployed. An accident or purposefully, you’re not sure yet.

And now, two days later, he still won’t shut the fuck up about it.

“Would ye do that for me?” he asks, playfully quirking a thick brow.

“Probably not, no.”

An arm shoots out accusingly at you in disbelief. “That’s my point! I—”

“Wouldn’t be able to anyway with that fucking landing strip you call a mohawk.” You poorly stifle a laugh with a tight-lipped smirk.

“Away n’ bile yer heid, I’m just trying to help!” He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to stave off his laughter too. It’s hard to be in his presence and not be overcome with a state of lively energy.

You’re in Soap’s—and sometimes Ghost’s—room, for no real reason other than company while König is at a (delayed) briefing.

Soap’s sitting on his—and sometimes Ghost’s—bed hounding you about the complex being that is König just because he can. You move about the room, finding things to tidy and organize to busy your mind.

“Have ye gone to town on each other yet?”

“Dude!?” You rip a pillow from under him and whack his head. Hard. His infectious cackling now muffled through the thick pillow.

“You’re insufferable. How the fuck does Ghost put up with you?” You try to suppress your giggling as you drop the pillow and join him on the bed in defeat.

A mischievous grin lines his lips at the question. “Well, he t—”

“No! No. Nope. I don’t need to know. It was rhetorical.” You hold up a hand to silence him, bringing it to cover his mouth. His day-old scruff pricks your palm as he tries to talk through your hand.

“Whatever you say next better be insightful or profound or else I’m gonna suffocate you with your own pillow.”

Soap, in fact, didn’t have anything insightful or profound to say about the situation.

—

König wanders into your room again that night, and he’s filled with a gluttonous desire to consume you in any way that he can.

It’s the least he can do for you. It’s the most you can do for him.

You rut against his clothed cock, straddling his hips tightly while your hands keep a death-grip on his hair. Once again, you find yourself on your bed with him under you, the clock on the bedside table glaring the angry red 12:56am.

His large hands have found their home on your ass, encouraging your pussy—still covered by your underwear—to rock harder over his length, which is still trapped in his briefs.

He breaks away from your mouth when you give a rather forceful roll over him, a surprised gasp slipping through his now rosy lips. His grip on your ass slides down to your quivering thighs, rubbing over them soothingly as you work.

A harmony of softs whines and rough groans dance around the room as your pliant bodies move together. “This is somehow better than sex,” König mumbles, mostly to himself. “I don’t want to admit it, but I can cum like this if you don’t stop,” he adds with an overwhelmed huff. “Fuck, I will cum like this if you don’t stop,” he moans.

You let him, and he holds you tight as if you were something other than casual.

#konig x reader #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty fic #könig imagine #konig smut #konig cod #konig imagine #konig x you #konig x reader smut #konig x you smut

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brianwashere · 9 months

Note

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

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myjealouseyes · 4 months

Text

Christmas Eve Wake Up Call.

HJP x wolfstar!daughter

A/N- if you saw me post this last week, no you did not!

No content warnings. Fluff, slight teasing and flirting, cuddling.

“…Harry. Harry, wake up. Wake up!”

He wakes with a start, his hand clutching his chest as he puts his glasses on. He looks over to see you, standing next to his now open window. This isn’t exactly new. Every Christmas Eve after you’ve just spent the day finishing up last-minute Christmas shopping and doing all your baking, you’ve usually overexcited yourself about the upcoming holiday.

That meant no matter how hard you tried or how tired you were you just couldn’t sleep. Your mind was in overdrive thinking about how people would like the presents you gifted, or if they’d like your baked goods (which they always did,) and you were slightly curious about all the gifts under the tree. You’d waited ages to see what was in each box and just thinking about how you only had to wait a few more hours sent you into a frenzy. So after an hour and a half of tossing and turning, you decided to sneak out of your bedroom and into Harry’s to make him suffer with you because what else are best friends for?

You close the window and skip over his bed, throwing yourself in the spot next to him. Harry takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes sluggishly before lying down next to you. You grin, turning his head toward yours. You caress his face gently, making a small flush form against his cheeks.

“It’s just after eleven y’know,” Harry mumbles while his eyes are fluttering shut. Your touch has calmed him down from his semi-panicked state. “You usually come a little closer to twelve.” You hum quietly and give his cheek a light pinch. “So I came early. You kicking me out?” His lips turn up into a teasing smirk as his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer. Butterflies form in your stomach at the feeling. “That depends. Are we going to sleep?” You wrinkle your nose playfully and poke at his chest. “It’s Christmas Eve. Have I ever slept on Christmas Eve?”

Harry gives you a playful sigh and it squeezes your hip. “Fair. What do you suppose we do then?” You trail your fingers over his chest, silently mauling over your options. Eventually, you shrug and smile up at him. “Wanna hear about what happened with my dad and the dogs earlier?”

Before he could answer you launch into a very amusing story about how Sirius had turned into Padfoot and gathered your three German Shepherds to devise a plan to sneak some of your Christmas baked goods out of the kitchen. You’d caught all of them with a basket of cookies in their mouths and demanded they put them back. But of course, Sirius had a plan for that too. As if on que they gave you the saddest puppy eyes you’d ever seen. You caved and ended up giving Padfoot three cookies and the dogs two dog biscuits each.

Harry chuckles at your misfortune. “You couldn’t resist puppy-dog eyes?” He teases as his fingers trace zig zags on your hip. You roll your eyes playfully and tug his hair. Harry laughs a bit louder, and soon both talking turns telling stories about your chaotic Christmas Eve days. Harry tells you about how James accidentally spoiled Lily’s Christmas gift, got really embarrassed, and then told her to just act surprised. You follow him up with one about how Remus had accidentally discovered his own gift in the basement, but didn’t realize it was his. He just shut the door and went to feed the birds waiting at the window.

As you two laugh, time passes and the sun sneaks out. You should sneak back into your room, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You end up falling asleep against Harry’s chest just like you do every year.

#blue’s queue #wolfstar!daughter!reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter x wolfstar!daughter #wolfstar!daughter #harry james potter x y/n #harry james potter x wolfstar!daughter #harry potter x black!reader #harry james potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry james potter imagine #harry potter imagine #hjp x wolfstar!daughter #hjp x y/n #hjp x you #hjp x reader #hjp

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co-reborn · 1 year

Text

WYR-0525: Good Little Student Wang Yiren Is Secret Porno Slut! Couldn't Resist Fuck During Office Hours With Teacher, Multiple Orgasms Spanking Doggy Style Sex Party!

Yiren x Male Reader

view in AFF

4,246 Words

A/N: Powered through writing this for @praeluxius and special thanks to him and @sinswithpleasure for helping beta-read this fic.

A/N2: Potential TW in terms of dubious consent for a certain part of the fic. I do not condone doing it IRL.

Funny how Wang Yiren has such a strong passion for the camera. The shot of her face when you take her attendance always reminds you of the many times you’ve seen her on the internet long before she became your student. You didn’t want to believe it at first but everything about her felt so familiar. You try to ignore her online persona as much as you can. She distracts you enough outside of class and you can’t have her be a distraction in class too.

Your eyes linger a little too long after you mark her as present. An hour and a half ago, she was dressed all prim and proper. Now at the end of class, Yiren looks like a complete mess. Her top is haphazardly buttoned and her face is flushed with stray hairs sticking to her forehead. You know that look. You can tell what she has been doing during your online class.

Block out any stray thoughts and focus on what’s on hand right now. You finish class with final reminders about other assignments and soon after, your students begin to leave the call. Only one remains. Yiren doesn’t say anything, just navigating her screen before she makes eye contact with you through the screen.

Immediately, your phone receives a notification. The website icon gives you a hint on what it’s about and you tense up for a second. When you look back at your monitor, you’re alone in the online classroom. You heave a sigh and close the app. Your next lesson is a while away so you busy yourself with some emails and marking of assignments. However, the universe has another plan for you. The notification of your phone stares at you. Ignore it.

You can’t.

You pick your phone up to read it proper—WYR uploaded a new video.

Your monitor cursor automatically finds its way to the bookmark bar and clicks the oh-so familiar webpage. Right at the top of the page it shows the latest video—“Class Time Sex Video For Teacher To Watch!”. You check the video length. Thirty minutes. Lunch break ends in an hour. You can finish lunch in fifteen minutes, you have time to spare. Your cursor hovers over the thumbnail. Just click away.

You almost give in to that voice in your head. The video preview starts playing. It shows Wang Yiren’s near-naked body. She has posted several intimate videos on this blog from months prior to being in your class and you hate to admit that you watched every single one of them. Your fingers tremble and ultimately, you go against your morals and get ready to watch the latest release.

The video starts off simple as always—an up-close image of her cute face smiling at her viewers. You’re thinking to yourself, ‘Fuck, she’s so goddamn pretty’. Yiren is easily the cutest student you have come across and if you were her classmate, you’d die to date her.

However, when she takes a step back and you see the manner she’s dressed in, your thoughts change to ‘Fuck, she’s so goddamn hot’. Her uniform top, the same one she was wearing earlier in your class, is halfway undone and she’s giving you a peek down to her cleavage. That sight remains on your screen for the next few minutes, you aren’t exactly sure how long. She stayed in the position for some time, undoing the rest of the buttons and pulling the top open repeatedly in a teasing fashion, plus you couldn’t resist rewinding those few seconds several times.

Then, Yiren takes another step back and turns around. When she leans forward, her skirt lifts just enough for you to see her cheeks peek from below it. Her hands reach for the side of the skirt and an audible zip later, it drops to reveal her skimpy pink panties. You pause the video to take the moment to properly admire her half-clothed ass, even spotting the outline of her pussy. Letting the video continue playing, you watch Yiren pull her panties down her legs. She’s already wet and definitely needy for some action. She follows up by teasing the camera with shakes of her ass mixed with her hands running all over the pristine white skin.

Meanwhile, you’re obsessed with the thought of what it would be like if you were next to her. Digging your fingers into her fine little ass would send you into a frenzy. You wouldn’t stop there. There’s more to enjoy than groping her. You want to spank that ass and ruin the perfect white with red hand marks. That will truly drive you insane.

As if she can predict your thoughts, what comes next is a series of soft slaps accompanied by her soft yelps. Yiren is slapping her own ass, although you would be rougher than that if you had the chance, and the first few moans of the video already have you twitching and leaking. This continues for the next minute or so, her slaps gradually increasing in strength, causing her ass to grow redder.

Yiren then turns back to the camera and smiles as she takes a seat. Slowly, she spreads her legs and your eyes are glued to the screen. You want to get a proper look at her crotch but her hands are covering the view, as if she knows exactly what you want. Keeping up the painfully slow movement, her fingers run across her soaking pussy lips before she fully exposes herself to the camera.

Yiren picks up a dildo off her desk and she winks when she presses the dildo against her entrance. Anticipation is at its peak. You’re staring intently at the screen and waiting for your student to begin fucking herself. Unfortunately, she draws out the moment further by circling the toy around her clit.

You do not have the time nor the patience to watch Yiren tease herself so you spam the arrow key to skip ahead. One click too many and you barely catch the sight of her inserting the last inch of the toy into her pussy. She then pulls it out and her juices staining the toy causes it to glisten. A split second later, the dildo is buried deep inside her one more. In and out the toy goes, a seemingly endless cycle that you’re so accustomed to watching such that you can “watch” with your eyes closed.

You stroke yourself at the same pace as Yiren fucking herself. You wish to be the one fucking her and your mental image slowly shifts.

She’s lying on her back and already spreading her legs. She’s wearing that same “fuck me” look she loves to put on in her videos and beckoning you to get closer to her. You’re pounding her fast and hard and the next thing you know, Yiren has her arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist. She pulls you into her and you hear her every gasp and moan.

“Faster. Harder.”

You’re fully unaware of how long the video has been going for and eventually, the moaning comes to a temporary pause. You slow your strokes down as well, not wanting to blow your load too early. An abrupt cut later, you’re presented with a new angle.

The dildo is now placed on her chair and Yiren has repositioned herself to face the backrest of the chair. While you’re denied vision to her front, you have the privilege to watch her ass. Her hand steadies herself against the backrest while the other pulls her cheeks apart just enough for the camera to catch the erotic scene. Yiren looks over her shoulder and bites her lips as she sinks downwards onto the toy.

As soon as the dildo is fully in her body, she begins to ride it fervently, not hesitating to vocalise her pleasure. You wish you could watch her face contort in pleasure but you’ll settle for the sight of her ass rippling as she bounces on the chair over and over. If only you get to watch that in the flesh or even experience it for yourself.

You always suppress the thought of fucking her when in class or on campus but in the privacy of your home, your inhibitions no longer hold you back. It would be heaven for Yiren to be on top of your lying figure and riding you. You want to grip her hips and bounce her hard against your cock. You want to fucking use your hot student’s body in any way possible. While your imagination continues to go wild, the pressure in your loins grows as you inch closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck!”

You snap your attention back to the screen when Yiren’s moans grow in volume and frequency. Your eyes are glued to the screen just in time to watch her cum. Her back arches and her head tosses back. Even after she has came, she never stops riding the toy despite the struggle.

By now, you’re more than 20 minutes into the video. You have been edging closer and closer to your peak. Rewind the last few seconds over and over. Watching the sight of Yiren cumming repeatedly is just what sets you off. You cum all over yourself and make a mess of your hands and your crotch. Your eyes shut while the pleasure of your orgasm courses through you and all you can hear is Yiren’s skin slapping on the now-wet chair.

Gently maintain your strokes even when you have stopped leaking while you grab nearby tissue to wipe yourself up. By now, Yiren is facing the camera and is holding her stained dildo. Her tongue circles the girth of the toy as she begins to suck it. If not for the time constraint, you would consider going for a second round.

After you finish cleaning yourself, you look at the video again. The glint in her eyes as she sucks her juices clean off the toy tells you something—she’s not done yet.

Before the video ends, she leans closer to the camera and whispers, “Aren’t I a good little student?”

“Yes, Yiren. Yes you are.”

~~~~~~

An unexpected knock on the door causes you to snap out of your trance and pause the video you were engrossed in.

“Come in.” You shut your laptop and look up.

Oh. It’s her.

Yiren steps into your office. Seeing that she’s wearing the same outfit as that video from days ago, your mind replays clips of her stripping herself, spanking herself, fucking herself. You shake your head and clear the images away.

Standing across the desk from you, she exclaims, “Do you like me?”

You raise your eyebrow, unsure of what she means. She shifts your laptop to the side of your table and lays her bag carefully on it. You frown, confused by her actions. Moving towards your side of the table, Yiren crosses her arms and leans on the edge of your desk, “I mean, sir, do you like watching my videos?”

There’s nothing you can do but sit in confused silence.

“Oh please, I recognise that website icon on your bookmark bar any day of the week.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In fact, I’m flattered that you watch my videos.” Yiren then places her hands on your shoulders and leans closer to you. “Sir, did you know I started filming myself in the middle of your online classes before?”

You gulp. Of course you remember the times when notifications go off minutes after your class ends and when you watch the videos, she is wearing the very same clothes as during the attendance check. “Y-Yes Yiren.”

“I did that not because I was bored, but because I get so wet whenever I hear your voice. I touch myself thinking about you. I fuck myself imagining it’s your cock I’m riding.”

Your eyes widen at the revelation. Your student lusting after you? This can’t be right.

“I want you, Sir, and I know you want me too. This will be our little secret.”

She finally plants her lips on yours and you immediately reciprocate.

You shut your eyes as you melt into the kiss. Her lips taste so sweet and addictive that it makes you yearn for much more. This isn’t right.

It feels like a match made in heaven. Yiren straddles you and pushes into you to deepen the kiss. Her tongue probes against your lips and you accept it. Immediately, it swirls around yours and explores your mouth. This is wrong.

Your hands roam her body, starting from her thighs up to her waist. So, so wrong.

They continue moving up to her shoulders. You want to wrap your arms around her and pull her tight. Stop now!

Your eyes widen and you push her away instead, trembling while the dilemma of what’s right or wrong sets in. Your last bit of conscience begs you to draw the line and walk away before you make any mistake. Yet where was it all those times when you jerked off to your student’s porn videos and streams and fantasised about fucking her in any conceivable way?

Deep in thought, you don’t even notice that your top is removed. Your body doesn’t register the sudden cold when heat is built up between your legs. The devil is now on her knees. Yiren does everything in her power to tempt you. Her lust-filled eyes are fixated on you and hold yours in place. You feel her hands unbuckling your belt and pulling down your pants but you’re completely powerless to react. Maybe you don’t want to.

Her first touch on your exposed shaft sends shivers up your spine. When she spits on your cock and begins to stroke it, you’re pulled back closer to sin and your rational thoughts are pushed further away. Yiren doesn’t stop there, especially when there’s so much more she can do. She dips her head lower and begins to pepper your balls with light kisses. It becomes so much easier to give in to your primal desires when she lightly sucks them. You manage to hold back a moan but your resistance is crumbling fast.

Your eyes dart up and look at the door. It isn’t locked. In a final attempt to stop, you mumble, “Someone might come in and catch us.”

As if being caught is the only problem with this.

Yiren licks your cock from the base to the tip before she looks into your eyes. “So let them watch.” You twitch in her hands and elicit a smirk from her. “Let them watch how good you fuck your good little student.”

You take a step across the line once again. When she wraps her lips around your girth, you hold her hair and push her lower onto your dick. Taking her time, Yiren takes you into her mouth inch by inch until your full length is in. She keeps you there and loudly gags on your cock, making a mess on your crotch with her saliva. Then, as slowly as she took you in, she peels off you, her lips still maintaining their tight seal around your girth.

Your hands clutch onto your chair, trying to ground yourself into reality. You’re a teacher. Yiren’s your student. She’s sucking you off. She’s giving you the best blowjob you’ve ever had.

“Fuck, your cock tastes so good, Sir.” Yiren continues to lick your slit and leaking precum. “You like my mouth on your cock?”

A groan will suffice. You don’t need any other answer. You only need her skilful mouth pleasuring you.

“Shut up and fucking suck my dick.”

She takes you in her mouth once again, this time letting the tip hit the back of her throat. Her hand rubs your balls and she alternates between deepthroating you and stroking you quickly.

The room is filled with the sounds of Yiren’s sloppy blowjob and your deep breaths. If anyone were to walk by your office, surely you’ll be in deep trouble. However, the fear of getting caught has long slipped your mind, replaced by the ever-growing lust for your student.

You yank her off your cock by the hair and pull her onto her feet. Hastily undo all her shirt buttons and rid her of the top, followed by her bra. You barely get any time to admire her bare chest before she turns around, so your hands roam her body instead, feeling up her waist and her tummy, fondling her breasts and pinching her nipples. This perfect body that thousands watch and dream about touching that only you get the honour of doing so.

Yiren leans against your chest and unzips her skirt. It drops to the floor and leaves her in her panties. You wish to reach into it and finger her but she pushes off you and supports herself on the desk. She repeatedly shakes her ass and pushes it back to you, her clothed ass occasionally brushes against your swollen tip.

Her teasing got to you and you’re too impatient for that at this point. You bend down and peel her panties off her, ridding Yiren of her last article of clothing. You finally get to see her naked in the flesh and even get a close up view. Your forefinger rubs her lower lips to find that she’s utterly wet. Curiosity got to you and you get a quick taste of her essence. Fuck, she’s so delectable.

You wish to bury yourself between her thighs and drown in her juices but you have a better prize instead—your hottest student is aching and desperate for you to fuck her. Having perfectly positioned yourself behind Yiren, you press your tip against her pussy. She looks over her shoulder and bites her lips.

Your heart pounds. You’re about to do it. You’re about to fuck your student. You’re about to fuck the Wang Yiren. Fully entering her body in one go, you're quickly overwhelmed. You want nothing other than to fuck this girl over and over.

“God, you have no clue how long I’ve wanted this.”

“If you had asked, I would let you fucked me earlier.”

“Then we have a lot of lost time to make up.” You kiss her cheek. “I’ll need to schedule more meetings with you.”

Yiren giggles in response and you feel her clench around you even further. As you continue to indulge in her body, more sinful thoughts fill your head, particularly all the things you want to do to Yiren.

Raise your hand and land a slap on her butt. Immediately, there is a reaction—her body tenses up and her pussy clenches around you. Yiren drags out a moan before she turns to you. The glint in her eyes tells you that she wants more. You time your next few slaps with your thrusts. Partially withdraw your cock from her, then land a spank on her. When her body jolts forward, hold her hips and pull her back to yours, thrusting your dick in at the same time. Upon establishing this rhythm, your strength gradually increases and you spank and fuck Yiren harder.

This is addictive. You’ve been “using” her to relieve yourself for months now, watching her put on provocative performances on the internet, but now, you’re truly using her as an outlet for your pleasure without a care about hers, although there is no doubt she’s enjoying herself too. You can’t go back from here. There’s no return to just jerking off to her videos. You need her.

Soon after, you press onto her back to slam her onto your desk and pin her waist against the edge, keeping her writhing body still while you continue to have your way with her. Caught off guard, Yiren yelps in pain. Her walls tighten around you as she gets closer to her peak. She’s so snug, so wet, and you take it as a signal to give her the final push. Digging your heels into the floor, you put more energy into your hips, forgoing strength for speed, all the while not letting up on your spanks. Tug her hair and lean straight into her ear, “Cum.”

Yiren instantly melts into her orgasm and loudly moans as pleasure washes over her. You remain buried deep in her throughout it, her pussy pulsating around your cock and bringing you a step closer to cumming.

Moments later, you pull out of her and fall back onto your chair, your slick-coated shaft still erect and aching for your own orgasm. Yiren remains bent over the table while recovering and you note the shade of red on her ass. It’s even redder than any of the other times she spanked herself on her videos.

Still, you can’t resist giving one last slap to her ass and watching her flesh ripple. She turns around and giggles before leaning over you. Her left hand holds your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss while her right wraps itself around your cock and briefly strokes you.

“Yiren, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Anything for you, Sir.”

Yiren straddles you and inserts you back into her wet pussy. She holds onto your shoulder and rides you with the sole purpose of milking your cum. She tosses her head back and moans at the sheer pleasure of fucking you.

Your senses are in overdrive. Days ago, the video only showed her riding the toy from the back and you were satisfied already. Now, you get to watch her pretty face contort in pleasure and nothing can beat this view anymore. The feel of her tight pussy is out of the world as her snug walls pulsating around you brings you more pleasure than all her videos combined. Her moans are mixed with your deep groans as well as the repeated sounds of skin slapping, surely anyone who passes by will know what’s going on. The musky scent that fills the enclosed room is one that you wish to keep permanently in your office. Her taste still lingers on your tongue that makes you seek for more.

When she leans further into you, you kiss her neck and down to her chest. Her breasts are a perfect size, all the times she teases her nipples makes you want to nibble on them and now you have the perfect opportunity to do so.

Yiren digs into your skin with each passing second and she picks up the rhythm. You try your best to hold back as you want to prolong this session but her body is just too hot. You don’t know how long it has been since she first entered your office and you don’t know how you have lasted this long.

“Are you going to cum in me Sir?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Fill me up. Fulfil your dreams of cumming in your good little student’s pussy.”

Your willpower has been chipped away and your body starts to crumble and give in. Holding her butt and slamming her petite body harder onto your lap, you thrust your hips up as much as you can.

“Fuck!”

You hold her tight as you do just that. Spurts of cum are shot into Yiren as you experience an orgasmic high like never before. She gently grinds on you throughout, ensuring every drop of cum leaves your body and is buried inside hers.

You sigh after you recover and bits of your conscience come flowing back. You shouldn’t have done that. It felt amazing, but you shouldn’t have fucked Yiren. When she lifts herself off your cock, you struggle to keep a moan in out of the fear that she pulls you in for another session.

She hastily puts on her clothes, leaving her bra and panties in your possession. You follow right after, haphazardly dressing yourself as fear of getting caught begins to seep in. While you’re doing so, Yiren leans against your desk and dips her fingers under her skirt. She scoops some of your cum out of her pussy and licks it clean. “You taste good.”

She then grabs her bag and heads out of your office but not before stopping at the door and turning back to you.

“See you soon, Sir.”

~~~~~~

The rest of the day goes by with your mind wandering about this afternoon’s events. You’re back home and by your desk. Why are you here again?

Your laptop is open. The website is loading. You’re preparing to undress yourself and to watch Yiren’s videos once again. Now knowing how Yiren’s petite body feels under your touch surely makes watching her videos much more enjoyable. The voice in your head quickly gives up and is suppressed. The sinful thoughts prevail once again.

At the top of the blog is her latest release—“Couldn't Resist Fuck During Office Hours With Teacher, Multiple Orgasms Spanking Doggy Style Sex Party!”. Your hand shivers as you click onto it. Eyes widen as you realise she has somehow recorded the session from earlier, capturing the action from multiple angles. Distraught, betrayal and anger fills you. You’d never expect to be set up like that.

But while your blood continues to boil, another feeling resurfaces. An extremely familiar one.

You pull down your shorts and boxers. The video plays and you stroke yourself with each frame triggering memories of her touch.

Maybe Yiren isn’t a good little student after all.

******

A/N3: Thanks for reading :) Please don’t record your sexual acts without your partner’s consent IRL

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #everglow #everglow smut #wang yiren #yiren smut

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igotanidea · 1 year

Text

that damn gala: Jason todd x fem!reader

the graphic is not mine, found it on Pinterest, all credit goes to the author.

Summary: credit for the idea goes to @p4inis: Can someone write a fanfic of “wear whatever u want, I know how to fight” Jason x fem reader???? Like they’re going to a gala and reader can’t choose which dress she should wear and Jay is her biggest hype man.

hope you'll like it: )

A/N: this is part of my Cheshire!reader!verse. You can find another story of it here in the post: Cheshire cat. And there will be more coming for sure since I'm having a lot of fun writing this verse.

Warning: cursing, a bit of sexual innuendo, but nothing explicit, Jason being a warning of himself :D

„Please, remind me why did I even agree to this?”

“Because you truly had no other option?”

“I hate you.”

“We both know you don’t.”

“Really? Do we?” Y/N smirked. Dick Grayson was her longtime friend and it gave her one privilege no one else had. She was resistant to him charm. So when he asked her to come over the annual Wayne gala it took a lot more than a pretty please and a nice smile to actually convince her to do so. Unlike many girls, she hated having to get all dressed up, putting on make-up and heels and acting like someone different than she really was only to win over some potential investors. Honestly, for a long time she couldn’t understand why was it her business. That lasted until Bruce offered her a job, an old RD position of her late father. Of course, the numbers were tempting but the thing was finally made her say yes was the opportunity to work with the latest technology and to put her ideas into work. And use them on patrols later on. So she gave in.

And soon one thing led to another, when she was forced to get involved into those stupid galas. Dick hated them equally as much, but at least he would be accompanied by Babs and they definitely would keep each other entertained. Unlike her friends, Y/N was going to be there by herself since for obvious reasons her beloved anti-hero boyfriend could not attend. So, she would either join Tim in deep conversation concerning Wayne Enterprises, sulk in the corner with Damian scaring people away with only look or spend the night getting drunk from all the expensive alcohol. One way or another it was going to be a loooong night.

“Yeah, we do. Come on Y/N, please, I’m gonna need your help you know it.”

“My help? Dick you are making zero sense. You will have your girl to dance with, Tim to take the duties and Damian for a security system. Why do you need me?”

“Because out of everyone you just mentioned, you are the only person that is actually fun.”

“Should I tell Babs about what you just said?” the girl laughed and heard Dick do the same on the other side of the phone.

“Please don’t” he turned deadly serious a second later “but you know what I mean. We both have known every guest for years now. We know their behavior, their bad traits and can predict who, when and how will make a fool of themselves. We have our inside jokes. Come on, please…..”

“Fine, stop whining, it’s out of character. I’ll come…..

“I knew you will give in at some point.”

“shut up, Grayson. I’m not giving in. Firstly because you will owe me and you know I’m not lenient when someone is in debt with me. Secondly, Jay will not like it, so good luck with having to deal with him. And lastly, I still got my cat claws on, so don’t expect me to be an egg-sucker.”

“As for the debts, that something we’ve been back and forth with for years now, so nothing new. I can deal with my brother, and Tim will deal with toadying, he’s used to it after all.”

“I hate you, Dick.”

“I know Y/n. See you at 9. You need me to pick you? Since you are coming alone?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Cheshire will swing by earlier and change in the manor if that’s fine.”

“I’ll leave the window open. See you, Y/n.”

“See you, Dick.”

She disconnected the phone and rubbed her forehead in frustration. She really though she would get away this year, but she’s been keeping this foolish hope for the last five years, always with no desired result. She always came and frankly it was never even half as bad as she expected, not that Y/N would ever say it out loud. But now, she had to choose a dress to go in and that was the hard part.

***

“Please, tell me you’re not preparing for the gala.” Jason stood in the door, only half-dressed In his gear, watching his girlfriend hurrying-scurrying in front of her wardrobe wearing only a sport bra and a pair of leggings.

“I am…” she groaned

“Was it Grayson? Did he force you? Do you want me to talk to him?” he took a few steps closer and grabbed her hands calming her down a bit.

“Nah. It’s fine. It’s always like this. He said I should come, I object, he uses his last-year arguments and I pretend to fall for them. It’s kind of tradition now. I would hate to break it.” She shrugged

“Maybe I can make knew tradition of making Dick attend the party with a bruise or…..”

“Stop it, Jay!” Y/N punched his shoulder and he grinned “if I really didn’t want to come, believe me I wouldn’t. But it really is entertaining making quiet jokes about all those bigwigs with excessive self-esteem and watching Tim trying his best to not speak his mind. The only thing that sucks about it is that I have to go alone” she moved her hands up his arms to his neck, pulling him in and he immediately grabbed her waist and leaned his forehead on hers, swaying from side to side.

“We can have our little party here. Or you can come with me to the patrol.” He whispered

“Mhm, don’t try to play me. That offer is a trap on your side, Red Hood only works alone. If you don’t count two teammates. And he does not want or need anyone else. Let alone little troublesome vigilante that also works with the bats.”

“That little vigilante cat knows her ways around words. She can play two sides, doesn’t she?”

“Jay, come on. You will never let me go with you and I will never ask. Too much of a risk and distraction. But I’m up for that party for two idea later on….”

“Do you have anything specific in mind?” he whispered seductively and leaned in to kiss her, but she quickly pulled away.

“Maybe. Maybe not. That depends if someone will take me home after the gala tonight. I mean, I have a couple dresses to choose from and I could use man’s advice on what to wear. Even if I absolutely hate the idea of playing the bait for man’s money. And I hate getting dolled up. I’ll be much more comfortable with tee and sweatpants or my suit. But I don’t have much opportunities to look nice, so…..” she pecked Jason lips quickly and moved towards the open wardrobe “what do you think, boyfriend?”

“Babe” every word she just said stung him. He knew she would never betray or cheat on him, but the thought of all those creeps staring at her and getting dirty ideas made him want to tie her to bed and keep her in the sheets with him, reminding her who’s the one to always keep her high and satisfied. But they all had duties to take care of. So he settled on embracing her from behind and kissing her neck softly “you know you can wear whatever you want. You will look hotter than hell. And I know how to fight if anyone would like to steal you away.”

“Babs is the resident beauty not me. If anything Dick should be scared. I’m only …. Addition.”

“Addition?” Jay kissed her neck again hitting her soft spot and making her gasp “you’re the crown jewel, babe. I wish I could go with you and watch everyone getting so jealous of me having you all to myself….” his lips on her skin was sending goosebumps all over her body.

“Jace….” She whispered closing her eyes

“Yes, sweetheart?” his grip was now tighter and she loved it and hate it at the same time.

“Let go of me. Now. Cause if you don’t neither me nor you will leave this apartment tonight.”

“Would it be so bad?” he muttered against her shoulder blade but reluctantly released her. “you should wear the black and red one. You will break necks in it.”

“Bet it has nothing to do with the fact some particular vigilante got those colors as a signature.”

“Vigilante? Who? I don’t really recall anyone choosing that palette.” He smirked with the boyish grin and she could not stop herself from kissing him again.

*** It was 8 when they both left the apartment, using different exits and wishing each other good luck. No hugs and kisses since that would only make them waver once again. Red Hood was on patrol while Cheshire made her way towards Wayne Manor making sure no one was following her. Being truthful to his words, Dick left the window open and without any trouble she found herself in his room, where much to her surprise she found Babs getting ready.

“Hey there, girl.” She smiled removing her domino mask and meeting with red-head wide and sincere smile “what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question, kitten. Is my boyfriend cheating on me?”

“Oh, you caught me! I only came here to tell him our little affair was over since I cannot do this to my best friend.” Y/N put her hand on her heart “And arguably because my boyfriend was after him to hurt him, but that’s on the side.”

“It’s good to see you Y/N.” Barbara smiled again and came to hug the other girl “dick told me you were going to get ready here so I thought we might as well help each other in preparation.”

“Oh, thank god for your foresight. I have no idea how to drape this freaking dress to avoid putting my whole chest on display.

“I had my suspicions about that.”

“And I am absolutely hopeless with makeup and hairdo, so yes, please and thank you for any help you can give me.”

“Don’t worry, my friend. I will make you look perfect.”

***

Barbara really was a magician with women stuff. Only because of her skillful hands and endless ideas Y/N was now looking like a real lady, classy and gentle, even if most of the times she was just a girl next door. Her dress fit her perfectly and any risk of showing too much was eliminated by cleverly used veil, draped on girl’s shoulder. Her make-up was almost invisible since Y/N had pretty skin (luckily she got no bruises or cuts for the last week so there was no problem with that) and she refused using anything more than some concealer, liner and mascara sticking to the minimum. Unlike Babs she ditched the lipstick not wanting to look like Joker after having one drink and leaving stains on the glass and all over. But still, she felt odd, especially standing next to Babs with her perfect figure and proud posture. Cheshire was used to skin tight suit that was supposed to protect her and enable all the kicks and punches, but this? Evening gown that accented all her hated curves and imperfections made her feel exposed, not protected. And this was another tradition that was happening every single year even though after all this time she should already be used to it.

“good evening, ladies.” Dick emerged from behind and offered an arm to Barbara “Babs, Y/N.”

“Richard.” Babs smiled at her boyfriend

“Hello Grayson” Y/N smirked only to cover for her insecurity. In a second she would be left all alone like a prey while Dick and Babs will make rounds together.

“You look nervous kitten” Dick pointed out and Y/N scoffed

“Nervous? Of course I am. I’m nervous for the safety of everyone here. You know I got…..”

“claws, I know. And that is exactly why I took care of things.”

“I’m sorry you did what?” she nearly choked because of his words.

“There’s this one guy, really big fish in IT industry. We are trying to get him to share some ideas with WE. And since you are in a warlike mood, you will talk to him. Besides, you are the only one here that actually knows enough about the technology to cover the subject so…..”

“Are you insane?!” she yelled-whispered “did you even hear a word I told you about attending this gala. I wanted out of the radar not being put on the spotlight! What happened to…..” she paused when an elderly couple passed through and smiled charmingly “what happened to the inside jokes and making fun of people?!”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but it’s like I said. You’re the only one knowledgeable enough to succeed. Just this one guy, please, and then you are off the hook.”

“Where is Tim when you need him?” she hissed and reached for the nearest glass of champagne “I don’t think I can do it sober.”

“I will owe you twice” Dick pleaded

“That is tempting…..”

***

The guy assigned to Y/N was hot. Tall, dark haired and well-build, with perfect nose, lips and all face. His eyes glistened when he saw her approaching and in a real gentleman manner he turned towards the girl.

“You must be miss Y/N Y/L/N?” of course his smile was perfect as well and Y/N was almost blinded by the whiteness of his teeth

“I am” she smiled through gritted teeth “I suppose you’re the tech genius Mr. Blake?”

“ Please, call me Desmond. It would be so much easier to cut the distance this way”

“I see you are very direct Desmond. Does that match in the workplace?” he might have been a predator but she was the one who hold power over words, not the other way round.

“We are not in workplace, are we?”

“But we are supposed to discuss some RD matters.”

“Who said we can’t have a little fun while at it? This is a party after all.”

“High-class party, Mr. Blake and as a CEO you surely understand that.”

“Of course, I had nothing wrong on my mind. Tell me, miss Y/N, do you dance?”

“Only when I’m forced to” she muttered making sure he couldn’t hear her while taking another discreet sip of champagne

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I do, although I am not very good at it.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right partner. Let me guide you” he offered his hand and lead Y/N onto the dancefloor.

This was going to be a looooong night, she thought while noticing Dick and Babs moving to the music on her left. Dick put his thumb up while Barbara only smiled. This was already a torture. Hopefully, things were going better for Jay.

***

Two hours and three drinks later Desmond seemed a bit nicer than at the beginning. Y/N was not drunk, she was used to keep her senses alerted all the time so she poured away all the alcohol Desmond so wholeheartedly kept on bringing. He did not and that’s why they were now sitting on the secluded couch, far from the crowd, the man babbling about how pretty she looked and how much of his type she was.

“I think you had enough Mr. Blake” she put a hand on his when he reached towards another glass. Apparently that was a mistake since he turned her gaze towards her, his eyes widening.

“Tell me Y/N, why is a girl like you alone at the party? I mean, you are hot.” Oh, fuck. She knew where he was going now. “and everyone here is just ogling you, me included.” Fuck square since he moved closer, almost grabbing her hip.

“ You’re drunk” she said standing up “I think you should sober up. Alone.”

“Don’t you dare turning your back on me, you little bitch. Who do you think you are?”

If only he knew…..

“A woman who knows better than to argue with you. You work for your own reputation Mr. Blake and let me tell you, you are only embarrassing yourself right now. Maybe you should stop before some reporter takes a picture of you stumbling.”

“You think you are so high and mighty, huh? A strong, independent woman, working for Wayne? Acting like a whore to get some attention and you can’t even get a boyfriend?”

“Careful with words, now” she warned slowly turning into Cheshire

“Or what? What exactly will you do, huh? Cause I don’t think you will do a thing…..” he lunged forward and before she could react had her pressed onto the wall, his lips on hers “you are only good for one night stand. And you ask for it, wearing that dress, you little bitch. You only deserved to be fucked and forgotten.’ He was using the fact no one could see them in this place

“Get the fuck off me!!!” she yelled all her instincts kicking in when she pushed the man away and he stumbled back. Unfortunately, while doing so, he stepped onto the hem of her dress tearing it apart and leaving Y/N legs almost completely exposed. “Damn it.” She muttered turning red while the man started laughing like crazy which finally caught some attention and Dick immediately came running for rescue.

“What is going on here?”

“Your little wanton friend is finally dressed the way she should be from the beginning.” Blake snorted

“Mr Blake, I think you should leave….” Tim rushed from the other side of the ballroom scared that either his brother or his friend would kick the man’s ass and made even more of a scene. This was going to be a PR nightmare.

“Leave? Oh, no, no, no. Not before I have a little fun with your little rag doll, here.”

“Let me though.” Another voice interrupted the discussion and Y/N, Dick and Tim turned their gazes towards the side where it came from.

“You’ve got to be kidding me….” Dick whined

“Oh, hell no!” Tim screamed

“What the…..?” y/N said in surprise

“What. The fuck. You think. You are doing?”

“Jason…..” dick tried to step between his brother and Blake before it came to fisticuffs. All of a sudden the latter became much more sober than a second before.

“Get out of my way, Dickhead. This scumbag just humiliated my girlfriend. I will not let him get away with it.”

“I’m sorry but…..”

“You are not sorry.”

“You’re right. I’m not sorry and I can’t let you through. We are trying our best to avoid bloodbath here.”

“I don’t fucking care! He asked for it.”

“Jason.”

“Back off, replacement!”

“Jason.”

Only now he stopped in his tracks. Because of her voice. Her soft, calm voice. All this time she was standing there silently watching the scene, her dress torn apart , hair messy due to the scuffle, being her calm, collected self. Fuck, she was so beautiful, somewhere deep inside he could not blame this man for wanting her. Who wouldn’t wish for this beauty to be in his arms. But she was his and only his. Only he was allowed to hold her and kiss her and love her. No one fucking else. And this one here, were not only trying to force himself on her, but also called her a bitch and a whore. And that was something Jason Todd could not let go easily.

“Jason, please, let’s just go home.” She said calmly “come on, baby. Nothing happened, all right? He’s not worth your anger. He’s just sad, pathetic man with a lot of problems, apparently. I’m safe.”

“Baby” Jason came closer to her sneaking his arms around her pulling her close “he needs to be punished. He offended you. Let me take care of that…..”

“Nope. Not this time. Besides, as much as I appreciate your effort, I can take care of myself and this one is just beyond are level. So why bother when we can go home and have that little party for two you mentioned earlier?” she caressed his side softly looking straight into his eyes and he was slowly melting.

“See? I told she is a whore! You better watch out for her, she will cheat on you with the first man…..” Blake did not get to finish the sentence when Dick and Jason grabbed each of his arm and dragged him out the door.

“This will hit all the headlines tomorrow morning….” Tim stammered out, his face as white as a ghost

“You can just buyout all the press companies in Gotham” Y/N said, equally white, but not because of the press.

“Are you kidding me now Y/N?!”

“Come on, Tim. Not the first PR drama for WE. We can turn this around. If not as Y/N and Tim then as Cheshire and Red Robin. We’ve done this before, all right?”

“Fine.” He huffed “One problem at the time. Now, are you all right? He did not hurt you, did he?”

“He could never. I’m better and stronger than it seems in this dress, or rather half-dress now.”

“Good. Otherwise I would have to stand against my own rules and help dick and Jason beat the man.”

“Speaking of the devils, this is taking them too long. Do you think maybe we should check out what is going on?”

“Nothing is going on. The boys are making sure Blake would never come around again. And from what I can predict his company will go down soon.” Barbara chimed in

“If that’s coming from the Oracle, who are we to argue?”

“By the way, where is Damian? He was supposed to act like security. How the hell did Jason sneak in? Not that I’m complaining, but I’d rather dance with my boyfriend than see him fight again ….”

“I was not the security! I never wanted to be here in the first place! I was forced!”

“Who wasn’t?” Tim scoffed

“You’re good Y/N/N?” Damian asked turning towards the girl

“Yes! God! I’m fine, please stop asking me that. I’m just a bit ….. tired.”

“You can stay at the manor than. There is always a place for you.”

“Thanks Dami, but…..”

“She is not going to stay. I’m taking her home.” Jason came into the view again, his nose bleeding.

“What did you do Jace?”

"I told you I know how to fight for you."

“Where is Dick?” Barbara became alerted and both girls exchanged looks

“I’m here. I’m fine. It’s all taken care off.” The oldest Wayne was clutching his bleeding nose as well.

“Did you two have a fight? How unsurprising…..”

"Wait, you beat each other instead of that fucking Blake?" Damian frowned "Can I do it then? I need some action, this party is boring like hell."

"He's been taken care of as well. Probably won't come around ever again" Jason stated proudly.

"What did you do him? Can you descibe in details?" the youngest brother suddenly became much more energetic and interested.

“I’m out, I’m done” Tim turned around throwing his hands in the air “you are all on your own now. I;ve got to do some damage control. See you tomorrow, Y/N. Remember your promise.” He left and so did Damian leaving Jason, y/n, Babs and Dick alone.

“Why did you beat him Jace?”

“He was supposed to watch out for you!”

“I said I’m fine!”

“But who knows what could have happened?!”

“could have, would have, should have….. How about we stop with the possibilities that never came to life, hm? How about you calm down, Jace?”

“How can I calm down?! You could have been hurt!”

“Dick? Babs? I’m so terribly sorry for everything that just happened.” Y/N decided to stop paying attention to Jason for a while.

“As much as I hate to say it, it might have been a bit of my fault.” Dick admitted

“a bit?!”

“Shut up Jason. I’m not talking to you now!” Y/N hissed and he just stood there with open mouth but did not dare saying a word. “I think we should call it a night, do you agree, Babs. We can’t let boys kill each other, right? Someone has to be smart.”

“Yeah, that’s true. We can’t ever rely on them with life choices, can we?”

“Nope. But I guess that’s the Wayne charm. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure y/n. I’ll let you know if dick’s coming after Jay to take revenge for the beating.”

“Ok. I’ll let you know if Jace is coming after Dick to avenge my honor” Y/N laughed and waved Babs and Dick goodbye before turning to Jason. “As for you….”

“Look, I did not mean to make a scene…..”

“Jay….”

“I saw you in danger and acted without thinking…..”

“Jason….”

“You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you…..”

“Oh for god’s sake!” she moved forward and cut his babbling with a passionate kiss taking him by surprise and leaving a few spare seconds for his brain to react and started kissing her back, his hands travelling up her sides. “I love you, you idiot. And I’m not mad at you, really. That was kind of…. Hot.”

“Only kind of?” he smirked

“Yes, because you still think I cannot take care of myself. You really don’t have to put the guns out every time you think I’m in danger. Especially when I’m not.”

“but you still like me in my vigilante mode, don’t you?”

“I never said it.” She scoffed

“Sometimes, words are not needed. I can settle on sounds.” He smirked and she smacked his head becoming red.

“Why are you even here? What about patrol? What about….red’s matters?”

“It’s a quiet night. I was patrolling nearby by accident….

“by accident?” she raised an eyebrow

“And thought I would swing by. And you know the rest.”

‘You are a child, Jason. A big child. And we definitely have a lot to work on in that area. Are you going back on patrol?”

“I wasn’t planning on, but…..”

“Good. Cause you know, I might be a bit turned on and need someone to take care of that. Are you up for the challenge?”

“Let’s go upstairs.” He picked her up and carried her the stairs to his old room, bridal style.

“Wait, here?!” she squealed when he threw her onto the bed and climbed up hovering over her body.

“Do you think I can wait? Honey, I need you right now.” He pressed his lips onto her, delighting in the way she melted into him and started letting out those sweets sounds. “now we can start our party” he smirked moving down her body, removing the straps of her dress and taking care of each square centimeter of her body.

“Jason….” she moaned arching her back “come on, don’t tease…..”

“I’m taking my time with you, babe. You will have to deal with it….”

@pinksirensong @somest1 - let me know if anyone wants a tag in any of my stories

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mumms-the-word · 1 month

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Shadow Curse Events Pt. 1

Ketheric, Selûne, Shar, and Aylin

I’ve played through the game a few times at this point and I always find myself struggling to understand the timeline or at least order of events that occurred with the Shadow Curse. I know some things conflict because there was one version of the story in Early Access (the version where Halsin accidentally killed Isobel) and it was heavily altered for the final version of the game, and some things just got *gestures vaguely* waved away, but I keep wanting to make sense of it anyway.

So that’s what this post (edit: I mean series) is going to do. After the cut, obviously. Long deep dive post ahead! Picture of a tired Ketheric for attention and because same bro c':

TLDR: These events happen either in the 1370s or the 1390s. Ketheric loses Melodia (his wife) and Isobel (his daughter) and turns to Shar. He captures Aylin, then builds a Big Dark Justiciar Army, training them and forcing them to kill Aylin over and over. Meanwhile, a Selûnite resistance is brewing in the town, and it's kind of making everything worse. One Selûnite rebel even goes so far as to make a deal with a devil. And all of that is BEFORE the Harpers and druids arrive as an army.

We don’t have dates, unfortunately, aside from knowing that the shadow curse itself was unleashed about a century ago, so “timeline” would be a loose term to use if/when I use it. But I have two theories about when it happened.

One theory is that because the Spellplague was happening between 1385-1395 DR (during which there was neither a true Weave nor a Shadow Weave, which is what the shadow curse is made of), the shadow curse likely started around 1396-1399, just shy of a full 100 years before the game’s events in 1492. But that’s just me conjecturing based on the idea that if the Shadow Weave is gone…how does the shadow curse stick around?

The other theory is that the shadow curse was unleashed sometime between 1371 and 1374. This is because a) Dark Justiciars were still being sent by Ketheric Thorm to destroy Moonhaven (the Blighted Village) in 1371 (Ketheric writes a letter about attacking Moonhave and a journal dated 1371 boasts that Ilyn Toth, the basement apothecary-necromancer dude, got killed by Dark Justiciars) and b) because Khelben Arunsun himself, the literal Blackstaff (super powerful and very old wizard), wrote a letter negotiating surrender on behalf of the Harpers.

We cannot be party to the suffering of the people of Reithwin, and indeed, of the great loss of life that this war will visit upon the Sword Coast - and, perhaps, beyond it. So it is written, and so let it be done, Khelben Arunsun, on behalf of the High Harper Council and its allies.

Wiki says Khelben broke his alliance with the Harpers in 1370 due to some disagreements, but it’s possible his splinter faction was at the battlefield with the other Harpers. I doubt he was there personally, but who knows. I wouldn’t go any earlier than 1371, though, because Baldur’s Gate II happens in 1369, and Jaheira would have been too busy dealing with those events to deal with Ketheric too. But it can’t be later than 1374, because Khelben Arunsun dies in 1374.

(I have questions about how the shadow curse survived the Spellplague and the loss of the Shadow Weave, but the answer to that could simply be All Magic Was Weird and Unstable at the time…plus Thaniel was already in the Shadowfell by this time, so the land couldn't heal.)

So it’s either 1371-1374 (because of the Khelben timeline, and I guess the Spellplague didn’t affect it) or it’s 1396-1399 (because of the Spellplague, but the writers just forgot Khelben was dead by that point, or maybe his ghost wrote the surrender notice idk). Both are good enough for Halsin and Jaheira to talk about things happening “a century ago,” but you can see why I’m avoiding dates.

But let’s push it back a few more decades. Back when Ketheric was a Selûnite and Isobel a very small child.

As we’re probably all well aware, during this time, Ketheric worships Selûne along with his wife, Melodia. At some point, he even commissions the local Mason’s Guild to build Moonrise as a testament to Selûne herself, according to Morfred the mason (who you can talk to in House of Hope, it’s pretty cool). Ketheric and Melodia have Isobel, but then Melodia dies while Isobel is still pretty young. Ketheric remains a Selûnite, mostly for Isobel’s sake, until she dies too.

Ketheric: I’ll tell you a story, True Soul. About a man who sold himself piece by piece. He had…everything. A wonderful wife. A brilliant daughter. They lived not far from here. His wife died too young. Grief tore through their home like a thief, snatching away the scent of her hair, the rustle of her skirts. But the man did not break. He could not break. His daughter needed him whole, after all. She grew up—grew strong. Challenged him. Filled his heart with such joy it supplanted all sorrow. When she was killed, the man…he tried to remain whole, but it wasn’t possible. Do you understand? Player: So the man fell to pieces. Ketheric: The pain was unbearable. All-consuming. He decided he’d do anything for reprieve. First, he sold himself to the goddess of loss. But the pain did not subside, no matter his obscene feats of devotion. Then a new god came—a god who promised the man something wonderful: his daughter. Her life returned. Imagine it. He would have to give everything: his body and soul entire. He did not hesitate. Not for a moment.

We know this story. Ketheric turns to Shar and everything goes Very, Very Badly. But the exact details/order of Ketheric's Sharran days are a little hazy. So here's what I've been able to piece together to sate my own curiosity.

While Ketheric is still a faithful (but waning) Selûnite, Dame Aylin visits as an emissary of Selûne. Moonrise/Reithwin is a Selûnite refuge and the Thorms are allegedly devout favorites of the moon goddess, so it's a big deal. While she's there, she and Isobel fall in love. Ketheric disapproves, in part because Aylin is immortal and Isobel is not (Isobel and Aylin both say this in dialogue).

Plus, and this is a personal opinion, I think Ketheric might have seen Aylin's interest in Isobel as another thing Selûne was trying to take from him. It isn't enough that Selûne let Melodia die, now her daughter is trying to woo his daughter and take her too.

But then Isobel dies. Somehow. The launch version of the game isn’t clear how. Aylin mourns but Ketheric spirals. He turns to Shar, hoping she will force him to forget about Isobel, but he doesn't. Nevertheless, he becomes a zealous Sharran.

[A journal spanning years, beginning with the birth of a child and ending with what appears to be a series of dateless tragedies.] How can she be gone? Where did she go? The Moonmaiden cannot be so unfeeling - so cruel. Not toward her most devoted servant. Not after Melodia. It makes no sense. It makes no sense. I won't survive it. That much I know. Forgetting is the only possibility. The embrace of oblivion. The reprieve of nothingness. It would not be possible for a man to survive knowing what he knows. Knowing what can be lost. Shar understands that. Hers is the only mercy I can comprehend. My mind is full of holes - yet not enough. The emptiness. The time. The nothingness. And still I remember. Still I remember it all. There is no mercy in this beating heart. There is no mercy in life at all.

He builds the Gauntlet of Shar (or maybe renovates and Shar-ifies it, maybe it was already there) beneath the Thorm mausoleum, connecting it to the much more ancient Grymforge area. Grymforge becomes a kind of base or stronghold for the Justiciar army while the Gauntlet is designed to test their mettle and prepare them for the task that will make them official Dark Justiciars—killing Aylin, though it's not clear when Ketheric and Balthazar lure her into the Shadowfell.

I'll get back to that later.

We know that Grymforge was used as a Dark Justiciar stronghold and possible training ground because of all the Sharran stuff we find there. It's like super obvious. The feasthall room, the dormitories, the weapons that lay everywhere. There's basically a whole Sharran city in the Underdark beneath and near Reithwin, some of which we can see from various points in Grymforge. In fact, if you go through the poisoned room where Nere is, you can see the Gauntlet down below.

(It's a little hard to see here 'cause I play on console but there's a glimpse of the giant Shar statue that takes up a ton of space in the Gauntlet. Somehow, the two places used to connect.)

Ketheric's new Sharran teachings are ruthless and vicious. He encourages his Dark Justiciars to kill a Selûnite once a tenday or more as part of their training and service to the Lady of Loss.

The Law of Nightfall: From the moon falls the foulest of lights. iIt peeks through cracks and fissures, illuminating the most remote recesses of the Underdark. Light bestows hope, a pernicious notion which must be extinguished. At the darkest hour, pray to your Lady and feast in Her honour. The second day after, slay a disciple of Selûne. If none may be found, a Lathanderian or Mystran are an acceptable offering. Do this once a tenday, and the Lady of Loss shall know you.

Reithwin and the surrounding village soon become a hunting ground. Most people convert. Those who don't get hung in the square as examples (according to a shadow memory). All faithful Selûnites are forced to practice their devotion to the Moonmaiden in secret, led by Morfred the mason and his brother Halfred the innkeeper of Last Light Inn. Halfred hides Selûnite relics beneath Last Light (you can still find them) while Morfred plots a true resistance.

[Hidden amidst columns detailing the income and expenditure of a tavern is an aside, written in tiny, urgent handwriting.] I have concealed the sacred relics of our revered goddess in the darkest corner of this place. Morfred, my loyal brother, seeks to forge a network of allies to stand against the oppressive reign of Ketheric Thorm. Sadly, fear has gripped the hearts of many, turning them away from our cause. I cannot truly blame them, for trepidation fills my soul as well - but I must put aside my own fears and reunite with Morfred in the bowels of the Mason's Guild. Together, we shall preserve what we can of the Moonmaiden's light, and hope that the banners of the faithful soon rise against that treacherous dog, Thorm.

But as time goes on, Morfred grows increasingly distressed with the events happening in Reithwin and the ease with which people are eager to switch faiths.

- How quickly things change. The Thorms are Selûnite through and through - or so I believed. Perhaps Ketheric only converted for Melodia, and with her death - and then his daughter's - his faith died too. But to turn to Shar? It beggars belief. - Ketheric's Justiciars are growing greater in number, and more determined to rout out any traces of Selûne in Reithwin. Why do they think this town was built? One cannot rip out the foundations of a building and expect it to remain standing. - Brother and I remain the last two bastions of Our Lady of Silver in the town. A few - the trusting few - come to worship in secret by moonlit nights. Others - converts, all. Whether they truly believe, I cannot say. Impossible, isn't it?

(Don't worry, the second page is further down lol spoilers!)

Life is not going well in Reithwin, even if you're not a Selûnite. Ketheric is determined to destroy all traces of Selûne and treason of any kind. His Dark Justiciars begin tormenting citizens to reveal pockets of Selûnite resistance. He also suffers no treasonous word against him, even if the citizens in question aren't Selûnite. We see a glimpse of this and of the Justiciars' cruel influence during the questline with He Who Was and Madeline, who ratted out her friends' innocent(?) complaints about Ketheric to some Justiciars, resulting in their brutal deaths.

Eventually Morfred realizes that the Dark Justiciars are too powerful to resist and turns to Raphael, offering his soul in exchange for something to destroy the Dark Justiciar army.

- Sick of standing idle while Justiciars gain power in our humble town. What will become of us if we allow it? I met a man who was no man. Touched by a devil. Or maybe worse. But he offered me something I couldn't refuse - help. - The time is now. Ketheric's Justiciars, their stronghold in the temple below - they will be wiped out. All of them. I didn't ask how. I just want them gone. Let the Harpers have at Ketheric now. They'll make short work of him.

You can ask Morfred about this in the House of Hope, actually, where he confirms the details. I mean, he's in Raphael's house, so it's pretty obvious the he did, in fact, make a deal with him.

Infernal Mason: When tragedy came, my master fell into darkness and despair. He marshalled a great army to ruin the world and bring all into shadow. I could not let it happen. I sought out the devil Raphael and signed an infernal pact with him. He promised to destroy my master’s army, and I promised him my soul in return. The devil was true to his word. Fiends slaughtered my master’s forces, but he endured somehow, and blighted the land.

The Fiend in question here is Yurgir, who ends up crashing through Grymforge and the Gauntlet to kill all Dark Justiciars in his path. (He misses one, because Raphael is a sneaky bastard who let one get away by turning him into a swarm of rats, but I digress.) We know Yurgir caused the destruction in Grymforge, too, because of the Merregon masks and hellbeasts we find around the area, and the fact that if you pass all the checks with the Duergar mason examining the stone, he helps you piece together this narrative:

Stonemason Kith: An ancient city, hewn from the stone by the disciples of Shar, later abandoned. Untold centuries later, a new tribe revives it. Fresh walls, fresh sculptures...until a great hellbeast charges through, toppling the walls and crushing the people! Heh - that explains the infernal plate I found. Perhaps you might have use of it.

Further proof that Grymforge and the Gauntlet were once connected...somehow.

Anyway, by the time Yurgir is called in, Morfred's already been found out. Thisobald overhears him drunkenly complaining about Ketheric in the Waning Moon and informs Ketheric of his treachery. Ketheric orders a raid on the mason's guild, leaving Halfred the lone source of Selûnite resistance. It's unknown what becomes of Halfred, but considering the fact that the inn was still taking guests (like Art Cullagh) and housing the Harpers right before the shadow curse descended (there's a shadow memory of a Harper toasting his comrades in Last Light right before the battle with Ketheric long ago), it's likely he's a victim of the curse and not Justiciar brutality.

I’m not sure which is worse, honestly.

It's unclear when Morfred dies, though he admits to witnessing the first part of the shadow curse (i.e., "...but he endured somehow, and blighted the land"). But Morfred's deal coincides in some ways with the arrival of the Harpers and druids. I think he probably makes the deal with Raphael before the Harpers officially march against Ketheric and then gets caught after he hears rumors of the Harpers.

Raphael makes good on his deal around the same the Harpers arrive, perhaps a little afterward. This means Yurgir's slaughter of Justiciars in the Underdark must happen concurrently with the battle happening topside between Ketheric's army and the Harpers/druids, meaning Ketheric is losing his army on two fronts at the same time. Victory seems assured for the Harpers and druids, but of course we know now that Ketheric had a way of cheating death already in place.

He had already imprisoned the Nightsong in a Shadowfell soul cage.

Again, we’re not sure exactly when this happens, but it’s after Isobel dies and before the shadow curse, which unleashes with Ketheric’s supposed death in the battle against the Harpers and druids. However, Aylin herself says that Ketheric and Balthazar lured her into the Shadowfell under the pretense of saving an innocent.

Dame Aylin: He and his loathsome advisor Balthazar lured me into the Shadowfell, claimed they'd found someone in need of my aid. There they trapped me in their infernal cage. I was killed, murdered, made dead, over and over and over by Justiciars of every make and kind. I was reborn, for it is my nature. And Ketheric fed upon my immortality all the while.

This makes me think that Aylin wasn’t aware of Ketheric’s conversion yet, so it must have been very soon after, because otherwise, why would she trust a known Sharran telling her to enter the Shadowfell, the realm that is entirely under Shar’s control? I also suspect Ketheric built (or renovated) the Gauntlet around Aylin after her capture, perhaps at the behest of Shar due to their collaboration in making up new Justiciar teachings, or perhaps out of a sick, vengeful desire to see Aylin tormented for daring to love his daughter.

If this is true, then there’s a very real chance that Ketheric was unkillable before he truly started to torment Reithwin town, and well before the Harpers stepped in to take him down.

Anyway we at least know that Ketheric trapped Aylin in the Shadowfell before the big battle against the Harpers because a) both Isobel and Aylin talk about her being there for a century and b) because Ketheric is already using her invulnerability to survive assassination attempts on his life prior to or during the actual battle against him and his army:

23 Elient The Harpers came too close - they poisoned Father Ketheric himself, yet he professes no ill effects. Malus insists it a fluke. Doctor he may be, but he is no less a fool for it: Father has achieved that of which I can only dream: immortality. I have long suspected. I can guess Father's purpose, but I cannot fathom the means.

This brings us to the eve of the battle itself. But this post is already hella long, so keep an eye out for part 2, all about the Harper and druid battle against Ketheric!

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ludi-ling · 27 days

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Prompt 1 - Heroes

I knocked out prompt 1 like a rabid little plot bunny. 🐇 Thanks @lovethelebeaux for your suggestion!

Got a prompt? Post it in the replies of this post.

Happy Easter everyone! 🐤🐰🐥🥚

The prompt:

The story:

Heroes

It’s a beautiful night.

Warm, and sultry, like the woman he’s just spent it with.

He slings his trench coat over his shoulder and whistles a dissonant little tune as he heads up the grassy incline to the mansion.

He’s jumped the walls. He prefers not to trigger the cameras. His indiscretions are his own. In any other place, he wouldn’t care. But he does here, in this place where there are responsibilities, and truth, and justice.

He doesn’t fit in. He knows this already. He won’t ever.

I’ll be sad, if you go, Stormy tells him. But if you must, you must.

I ain’t cut out for this, he replies. I ain’t like all’a y’all.

And she raises a gentle eyebrow at him, says; After all we have seen, all we have been through together, you can still say such a thing?

We had some fun, p’tit, he concedes with a grin. But look at ya now. Ya all grown up, Stormy. You’re an X-Man. And I’m still just a thief.

He’s worse. But no one here has to know that, and he doesn’t want them to know, not ever. Guilt is a heavier burden, in a place like this. You weigh your soul against the goodness of others. Stormy figures he can find some sort of redemption here. But she doesn’t know the sins he must one day atone for.

Earlier that day, he’d started packing. But he hadn’t been able to resist one last hurrah before hitting the road once more.

He’ll go back to his room, have a shower. Sleep what little he can, before a new day rises.

Then he’ll bid his adieus and be gone.

He skirts by the lake, and as he does, he hears a nearby splash of water. Once, twice.

It’s too early in the morning for birds. He pauses. He steps around the dense trunk of the cedar tree and follows the sound.

He stops when he sees her.

Floating on her back in the water, eyes closed, her silver and cinnamon hair fanned out like a halo around her.

She’s never like this.

Rogue is brash and loud, and when she’s silent she’s sullen… sometimes sad. But she’s never like this. Calm. Peaceful. At home with herself.

He looks aside a moment, feeling like he’s encroaching on a moment, and not knowing how to extricate himself from it.

Truth be told, he doesn’t want to.

He’s been avoiding her. Not because he doesn’t like her, but because he likes her too much. She’s a reason to stay, and yet a reason to go. He wants to touch her, but he can’t. He doesn’t stay for things he can’t touch, he can’t steal. What’s the point in stealing a heart from a body you can’t touch, after all?

He hears her splash again, and his eyes move back to her.

She’s standing waist-deep in the water with her back to him, her hair a coppery sheen down her back. She lifts her arms and wrings the water from her locks.

She’s naked.

His heart is thudding in his ears.

He knows a thing or two about beauty, but something about hers stirs him every time, in places he doesn’t know could be stirred.

He slinks back into the shadows of the tree, and when he hears her begin to the leave the pool, he turns aside and quickly leaves.

He feels as if he’s intruded on something he shouldn’t have seen, that she would never have let him see. The sentiment has never stopped him before, but he tells himself this is self-preservation. If he sees her and she sees him, it’ll invite him to break a boundary he doesn’t dare articulate. After Belle, after Marissa, after all the women he’s fallen for, there’s too much at stake.

There’s too much.

He marches up the slope to the back entrance. He’d thought he’d worked out all his urges and then some tonight, but she stokes fires in him without so much as even throwing a look his way. Tugs at him with the memory of her kiss, one he can’t ever relive again.

He reaches the flagstone steps, and walks up onto the veranda. The need hasn’t gone, and so he pauses in the doorway and lights up a smoke to calm his nerves. He closes his eyes and breathes. When he opens them again, he sees her walking up the hill towards him, dressed in nothing but a blue, terry-cloth robe, her feet bare. She ascends the steps, oblivious to his presence, and when she sees him in the shadows, she starts.

“Gambit,” she almost exclaims.

“Rogue.” He steps forward a little, into the porchlight. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean t’startle ya.”

She says nothing. For a moment they stare at one another, a little awkwardly, a little something more. He hasn’t spoken to her for about a week now; but he’s sensed her eyes on him, sometimes, across the dinner table, or from the other end of the Rec Room. He’d pulled away from their banter and light flirtation because he’d slowly been coming to the conclusion that it was better to leave, but here, now… he doesn’t want to go without saying some sort of goodbye to her first.

Maybe he's even tempted to steal another kiss from her, her powers be damned.

“You’ve been out late,” she breaks the silence first, noting his trench coat and his unbuttoned dress shirt. She’d been aiming for flippant; but the words are a little self-conscious, a little defensive, as if she knows, instinctively, what he’s been up to.

“Looks like you’ve been too,” he responds quietly.

She colours a little, tugging the robe tighter around her, as if suddenly aware of her nakedness beneath it.

“I went for a swim, down at the lake,” she explains, almost in a rush. “It’s safer to do it now, when no one else is about. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout absorbin’ anyone.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Bet it reminds you of splashin’ round in the Mississippi durin’ high summer too, neh?”

She smiles then, a genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure does.”

Silence falls. She swallows. His heart is still crashing in his ears.

He can’t stop thinking about their kiss.

He guesses she can’t stop thinking about it either.

“Listen,” she blurts, after a moment, “I was wonderin’… Wolverine and I gotta trainin’ session tomorrow mornin’. You wanna join us?”

He’s surprised.

“Heh. You want me to hand your ass t’ya again, chere?”

She almost colours again – it’s less the ass-handing that bothers her, and more the kiss that had come afterwards.

“Naw. Ya just been lookin’ so sorry for y’self lately, I figured you could use a distraction.”

He laughs softly.

“Thanks but no thanks, chere. Three’s a crowd. And I know Wolverine don’t like me much.”

She quirks a small smile.

“That old grump don’t like no one.”

“He likes you.”

She looks aside, reflecting on that a moment.

“Well… I protected someone he loved. And in return… he gave me the gift of life.” Her voice had become quiet. “Before that… he hated me. Everyone here did.”

He’s surprised to hear that.

“Why?”

She darts a look at him, awkward again.

“Didn’t Storm tell ya?”

He says nothing, and so she continues; “I was with the Brotherhood. I… I did a lot of bad things. To the X-Men. To other people. To innocents.”

She clutches the robe tighter around her, as if to shield herself from her shame.

“I nearly killed Ms. Marvel – someone who’s a real hero. I stole everythin’ that belonged to her – her powers, her mem’ries – everythin’ that made her her. Her mem’ries ate at me. Drove me nearly t’madness. She was so strong. So strong, I began to fear I’d lose myself. So I came here. Hopin’ against hope that the Professor could help me. And he did. Just not the way I was expectin’.”

The words seem to take something out of her. She sits on the balustrade, still clutching the robe around her.

“When I first came here, everyone hated me. I couldn’t blame them. I’d tried to kill them, hurt them, countless times. But I had nowhere else to go.”

“And you earned their trust,” he finishes the story for her. “You became like them. A hero.”

She smiles up at him faintly.

“Everyone who comes here… somehow… we all end up heroes. Of one stripe or another.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly and grinds out his cigarette with his heel.

“I ain’t no hero,” he mutters.

“You seem to be doin’ pretty well so far.”

He shakes his head and moves to sit on the balustrade beside her. Close… but not close enough to risk brushing against all the naked skin she’s exposing right now.

“You’ve moved on from your past, chere,” he mutters, rubbing his long fingers together. “Maybe I ain’t ready yet t’move on from mine.”

She stares at him. There it is again. Her gaze, like fire on his flesh, in his gut and lower.

“Nothin’ you’ve done can be so bad it’s irredeemable,” she says.

There’s certainty in her voice. She believes it. Everything she’s experienced here, with the X-Men, has taught her to believe it. But he doesn’t. He knows what it is to stain his hands with blood.

“Would ya say the same to the Shadow King?” he asks.

She says nothing for a moment, and he thinks he’s caught her out – but she doesn’t take the bait.

“Y’know somethin’, Gambit,” she begins softly instead, “for the longest time I wasn’t sure whether I’m here now, fightin’ the good fight, because it was Ms. Marvel’s mem’ries, her personality, her goodness and sense of justice, that brought me here. Hell,” she exhales a heavy breath, “I still don’t know. Scratch the surface, scratch away all the psyches I’ve ever absorbed… when you get to the core of me, the real me, who is Rogue? Is she a murderer and a terrorist, who became a ‘hero’ because she absorbed a hero? Or was she a good person from the get-go? I genuinely don’t know anymore. Since I was thirteen, all I’ve ever had is other peoples’ personalities layerin’ over mine, over and over, buryin’ me under.”

She braves a look at him.

“Sometimes I get scared that… I’ll wake up one day, and discover the real me that’s been hidin’ underneath all that shit. I get scared I’ll kill everyone in their sleep. That I’m not – and never really was – a hero.”

Her eyes her greener under the porchlight. There’s an earnestness in them that tugs at him more powerfully than her body.

And he can answer her question. Because he knows it. Because it’s been self-evident to him since he first laid eyes on her.

“You’re a hero,” he assures her quietly. You’re somethin’ I’m not. He touches the sleeve of her robe because he can’t touch her hand, and he adds: “You’re a good person, Rogue.” He rubs the fabric between his fingers, because he can’t rub her own. “And… you’re beautiful.”

The earnestness doesn’t leave her eyes. She doesn’t look away.

“I think the same things about you,” she says simply.

She puts a hand on his knee, and he feels the warmth of each finger through the fabric of his pants. His heart is crashing in his chest. A touch has never felt so intimate. He leans towards her, and, Dieu, she’s brave enough to lean back towards him. He wants to kiss her so badly, he thinks he might chance it. He thinks he might chance oblivion, and all his ugly secrets being ripped out into the open, to kiss and be kissed by this sweet creature who swears she’s no angel, yet is nothing but to him.

For a few short, lingering seconds they remain there, a breath away from a kiss. She draws away first. He doesn’t know it now, but in the years to come, it will always be her who will draw away first.

“I… I should go. Gotta get up early for that trainin’ session tomorrow.”

She slips off the balustrade. He is still holding her sleeve, and somehow he can’t let go. She glances up at him.

“Will ya be joinin’ us?” she asks hopefully.

“What time?”

“Eight.”

He thinks about it. He’s been planning to be long gone by then.

“A’right,” he says.

She smiles. He loves her smile, because she doesn’t smile enough, not like the way she is right now.

“Great. I’ll see ya then.” She pauses, adds a little shyly, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He relinquishes her sleeve, and she pads up to the door in her bare feet, throwing him another smile over her shoulder before she leaves.

He heaves out a pent-up breath.

His senses are burning. She consumes him like the sun. She doesn’t need to touch him to do it.

He gets off the balustrade and goes inside. He climbs the lonely stairs and heads back to his room. He stares at the bag on his bed, the bag he’d packed only just this afternoon.

He thinks of his words. Words so painfully honest he’d never meant to say them until he’d said them.

You’re a hero. You’re a good person, Rogue. And you’re beautiful.

Her hand on his knee. The warmth of its imprint.

I think the same things about you.

He wants to be the person she sees.

He doesn’t know if he can be. But he wants to be, for her.

He makes up his mind.

Slowly, methodically, he begins to unpack.

-END-

#Romy fanfic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #writing prompt #canon compliant

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laurark · 4 months

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2023 Wrap Up

A strange year that was both long and short. The main lesson to learn from 2023 is the same lesson I have been learning every year since I was 6 years old: Things happen if you try!

I spent a lot of time this year hitting my head against a wall, or rather healing from an RSI that caused making art to become really fraught. I could bear the wrist pain in order to do my favorite thing (drawing!!!) but then the pain stuck around after I had clocked out for the day and was making dinner. It would go like this: I want to make pasta sauce using canned tomatoes, but using a can opener is so painful now that maybe I should just do something else. The onions and garlic are already cooking in the pan though, what can I pivot that to? I felt like the biggest dunce in the world. I worked my way into being cursed, I deserved it.

I have this craving to just commit to a big art project, like a graphic novel, and keep my head down working on it. Having all my time devoted to work feels a bit like doing penance, like earning my bread. But I look at the world and I know I cannot draw my way out of this. I can’t write my way out of this. I can’t post my way out of this. I am unprepared for what I need to do to earn a better tomorrow. But I am prepared to learn.

I changed up my desk ergonomics and my wrist healed. Thank you to the huge desk easel that I stole from my parents’ house. It’s ugly, heavy, stained, and I keep banging my elbows on its sharp corners. It sucks but it saved my life. Do not resist making your workspace uglier if it might help you!

Making The Influence and participating in the ShortBox Comics Fair was a huge work highlight this year. I’m so grateful I can make a work with dark themes and have it be understood and appreciated. The encouraging response to The Influence did a lot to kill the bad faith reviewer in my mind. Things are possible if you try!

I started painting again and I really love it. I’m trying to just follow the image-making. Painting is play to me and I want it to remain so. I feel myself itch to turn it into some kind of profitable thing, to make it palatable, but I’m trying to resist so it remains a place of experimentation.

I also wrote a short novel. It’s awful. I just re-read it and it’s so bad, but reading it makes me happy. It needs serious reworking to be a proper novel, but I did technically cross the finish line and write the whole story. It was very refreshing and informative to branch out like this, even if I don’t think this particular example is fit for human consumption. Earlier in my life I was so stubborn about ONLY working in comics but now I’d like to pursue whatever path I can to have a creative career. If you try!

I had a great time tabling at Short Run this year. Two different people came to my table and told me they came to the show specifically to see my table. One person said Bug Boys was responsible for facilitating “many special moments” with them and their niece. I don’t want to forget about moments like this. It means a lot to me.

It occurs to me as I type out this year’s accomplishments, they’re mostly things I did at home alone. I haven’t rejoined the world after COVID in a meaningful way, the way I hoped I would during lockdown. It comes naturally to me to make up excuses to stay home, keep my head down, watch how things play out before joining in. That attitude does me a disservice. It isolates me. When other people are only in the screen, they become hypothetical. It’s not right to live this way, but it’s comfortable to me. It feels “safe” after COVID, even though it’s not safe. I know I need to change this.

It feels sick and strange to be blogging in my safe little apartment during a time of bloodshed. To flip through my planner and think of my future while others starve is obscene. My entire life was obscene in this fashion. It’s my responsibility to sit with this feeling and do something with it.

Here’s to a better 2024. We can do it, we can try.

In love and solidarity,

Laura K.

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kit-kat-katie · 7 months

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Hallow’s Eve

A/N: I'm early for once, so I may be able to post again this month?? Who knows, I just wanted to write a little something for my favorite otome boy.

TW: Animal abuse (a literal hanging spider), ambiguous time and setting, and I'm down very bad for this man.

Summary: A small, quite frightening Halloween direction sends Solomon's latest ploy to fool the residents of the Devlidom into motion. Unfortunately, you're caught in the crossfire, but he's more than happy to make up for his mistake.

“Is that… a hanging spider?”

As you set aside the armful of Devildom Halloween decorations, you can’t help but admire (and stare in slight disgust) at the large, very real spider that is dangling from the front entrance. When one of its legs twitches to show signs of life, you jump before quickly backing away towards the living room.

“Boo.”

You scream at the top of your lungs before throwing one of the stuffed plushies that you set aside earlier in the direction of the voice.

Solomon, from behind you, catches it with one hand before tossing it behind him. He leans against the doorframe with a shit-eating smirk on his face.

You sigh before trying to calm your heart as he quietly approaches you.

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to-“

“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes as he picks up one of the decorations and sets it on a table. “Did you put that up there?”

“I don’t seem to remember that…” Solomon smiles as you stare daggers into his back. “Not a fan of live decorations?”

“I feel bad for the poor creature,” Your eyes flick up to the spider who has ceased all movement for now, “don’t you?”

“A bit, but in all fairness, you weren’t the one I was planning to scare.”

You take a small ghost, one that you hand-painted with Luke, and set it beside the plush black cat that Solomon had taken earlier. He stands next to you, a playful cheshire cat-like smile on his face, as you turn towards him.

“And what human world tradition were you trying to convince them of now?” You fold your eyes as he leans in closer.

“Doesn’t the spider remind you of something?” His eyes land on your lips as his face stops inches from yours.

You look away for a moment, just to recover a bit of dignity and to not cave in immediately, before you coyly respond.

“You’re the reason mistletoe is banned in the House of Lamentation-“

“-that was because Mammon hung them everywhere, and Satan nearly destroyed the house after finding you and Lucifer underneath one-“

“-but I’ll play your game, Solomon.” You cut off his words before taking his hand and leading him to the front entrance.

Once you stop, one of his hands finds your waist as the other is placed on the doorframe, trapping you in his embrace. You place one hand on his chest before placing the other behind his neck.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, but the feeling of his lips on yours is one that always makes your heart beat out of control.

Once Solomon backs away from you, you pause for a breath as he sheepishly looks to the side. Your phone dings, and you nervously bite your lip when you see who’s texting you.

Asmodeus: OMD, is it really true that kissing someone underneath a hanging spider is good luck?

“You couldn’t wait?”

You show Solomon your phone, and he laughs before shrugging.

“Of course not. How could I resist a plan to irritate everyone else while gaining more of your affection?”

#fanfic #x reader #obey me short fic #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #omswd #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me mc #solomon obey me #solomon x reader #solomon x mc

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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Sometimes

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sometimes, the only remedy for a bad day is Eddie Munson.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, dom!Eddie, brat taming, slight breeding kink, some aftercare, fluff, oral sex, and MORE!

A/N: Hi! I know I owe y’all Virgin!Eddie, among other things, but since I’ve been having a tough time at work (and I know y’all can relate), I thought this is more fitting? It’s just a domestically soft Eddie and comfort filth, lol. I posted the teaser for it last night! Hope y’all enjoy? Much ❤️

~*~

Eddie can see it within your eyes that you are attempting to conceal your negative energies. The thing is, he doesn’t want that. It’s a pact of honesty that you two share, even before you became a couple. Be honest. No more, no less.

Okay, maybe more. Sometimes…

But today you’re not abiding by said pact. No, on this Autumn afternoon in Hawkins, Indiana, you are storming into Eddie’s trailer after your shift ends, and immediately making a beeline for the chilled wine his Uncle Wayne (you adore that man) keeps in stock for you. Eddie approaches with caution, not really out of fear, but respect for your boundaries as a whole individual. He knows when his antics aren’t needed.

Sometimes…

You’re just finishing up brimming your chipped mug full when Eddie enters the cove of the small kitchen. He’s a sinful sight for your sore eyes. Black slacks hang off his hips, chain wallet tucked safely into his back pocket, opposite that bandana peeking out of the other side, a charcoal flannel undone three, maybe four buttons, rolled up at the sleeves, helping to accessorize his tattoos and that chain link bracelet, his signature rings adorning his fingers, and something new. It shines against that slight tuft of chest hair, nestled between his collar bones, drawing attention to your leftover hickies from last night. Frowning, your cup being settled behind you is an echo as you make your way into Eddie’s airspace, immediately invaded by hair gel, cigarettes, cinnamon from his earlier edible baking activities, and that musky cologne scent he has taken to using lately.

You can’t resist, his curiosity causing a glow to shadow his chocolate irises with amusement. He speaks before you. “Yes?”

“What is that?” You’re reaching into his shirt and fondling the jewelry, letting its cool material drape over your fingers.

“Oooh, come home to steal a feel? Am I that cheap to you, sweetheart?”

You stare at him with point blank annoyance, yet a hunger that knows no bounds. Familiar, always like coming home and being held in the softest bed, with the warmest blankets and the fluffiest pillows. Only, Eddie’s chest is your bed, his body heat is your blanket, and those arms usually end up as your pillows. You flick the chain, fingers hovering over his undone top, peering into the fabric and seeking out what he’d never let himself not remember to wear.

“If you’re tryna undress me, just say the word, baby. You know I can put on a good show for you—“

You press a finger to his lips. “Will you shut up, please?”

He growls and nips the skin of your digit, making you raise a brow. “Eddie, where’s your pick? And what is with this?” You shake his new necklace in slight exasperation, emphasizing your need to know.

He catches on, smirking. “Oh, you mean this little ol’ thing?” He adds two of his own fingers next to yours, wiggling the chain off your grasp and jiggling it into his palm.

When you pinch the bridge of your nose, he gives.

“Pawn shop downtown. Remember I was going to see about some newer amps? Just caught my eye, s’ all. Pick is in my room, safe and sound with Sweetheart. She needed the company anyways.” A brief pause. “You sayin’ you don’t like it?”

Your mood is briefly obliterated at his slight anxieties. He’s so cute that your knees feel shaky and weak, butterflies on a slip and slide around your tummy. You hook a finger beneath the silver and tug him forward, nose nudging his own. “Quite the contrary, Munson.”

He hums an appreciative understanding, licking his pearly whites as your noses swipe across the other on the break away. You want to bite him… all over. He’s crashing your horny thoughts, motioning to your forgotten cup. You’re still holding his accessory, eyes wandering to where he’s directing.

“Bad day?” His voice is a comforting rasp, soaked in honey and soothing your every need.

You can only nod, pressing your forehead into your own knuckles, trapping your hand between your face and his chest. You’re mumbling unintelligible snark and becoming anxiety ridden once more. Eddie feels the tension before he sees it, his arms winding around you and beginning to knead at the large knots he finds. It worries him when you still don’t answer. He can’t say he isn’t prone to pushing, because he’s been vocal and without tact when it’s most appropriate.

Sometimes…

“Princess?”

You pull away from the safe confines of his soft tummy, his welcomed arms, and freshly laundered (so he did remember to do the laundry today) flannel, going back to your mug with your back facing your boyfriend. Taking an opening, albeit, brief — Eddie presses his chin over top of your shoulder, his arms sliding around your waist, clasping his fingers together above your navel. The silence of your sips are what you hear for the next few minutes, along with that coo coo clock Wayne had just bought last week at a Yardsale. Eddie, of course, breaks it first. “Honey?”

Leaning forward and out of his hold, you rinse your mug and leave it for a later washing, bypassing Eddie and heading to your shared (you’re here most days) bedroom. He runs a hand through his shaggy curls, following hot on your heel. Your back is facing him when he enters the doorway, fingertips tapping idle beats on the framework. You can feel his doe eyed stare on your back and it only presses the guilt further into your stomach, which is summoning more irritation. Heaving in a deep sigh, you swivel on bare feet, toes curling in the carpet.

“Eddie, what do you want me to tell you? It’s not even that big of a deal, okay?”

“No, Y/N.” Forgoing pet names in favor of your real name, you know you’ve upset him. “Remember what we—“ He motions between the two of you with his hand, before continuing. “agreed on?”

You roll your eyes and that darkness begins to simmer behind his irises. You lick your lips before you can even think twice about the implications the action will cause. He steps forward on worn combat boots, swaying into your space. “So we’re going to act like a fuckin’ brat today, huh?”

“Maybe I will. What are you gonna do about it, Eddie?” It’s a huffing challenge as you attempt to meet his lanky stance, putting emphasis on his name.

“Sweetheart… you’re makin’ it real hard not to bend you over and split your cunt apart on my cock. But you know that, don’t you?” His pupils are dilating, leaving behind specks of maple.

“And if I do?”

Eddie tuts, finger filtering beneath your chin. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re sassing me every time I ask you what’s goin’ on. And while I find your cock thirst endearing, your well being is priority here.”

Inhaling a jagged line of air, you fold onto your mattress. “I know, I know. We agreed to tell each other if shit was wrong.”

Eddie kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his, thumbs rubbing your palms. “Your bullshit day is my bullshit day, baby. Whatever is going on, I want to know about it, yeah?”

“But it’s so stupid, Eds—“

“Hey, look at me, princess.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You do as told and then he’s continuing. “Nothing about you or your life is stupid. If you feel somethin’ then you need to feel it with that whole heart of yours. Then we can worry about shuttin’ off this brain, cause’ she’s always on the run.”

Your eyelids flutter closed as Eddie zones in on you, large hands cupping your cheeks, nose smooshing yours. Your fingers find that silver chain, pulling.

“I had a bad day.” you whisper.

Eddie strokes his thumb pad along your brow bone, lips plush and parched, aching to be kissed, or is that you between your thighs? He nods. “And how can we make it better?”

Teamwork work and togetherness, another mantra Eddie has for you two.

Eddie Munson may play dumb, but he isn’t ignorant. He’s well aware of what you want. What you need. His thumb swipes down your cheek and finds the corner of your mouth, sinking inside. You suck on the digit, tasting nicotine and nutmeg.

You begin a swirling rhythm around his calloused digit, fingers curling underneath the chain and into his chest hair, scratching at his flesh. He’s closing his eyes and taking it in, groaning. You’re one pleased cookie. Humming around him, you release it, hand climbing from his sternum to his neck, pushing up and through his shaggy mane, tugging until his neck is bared and offered to you. He hisses through clenched teeth. “Atta girl, take what you fuckin’ need. Gonna help my pretty love forget all about this shit day.”

You’re like a woman starved, desperation slapping you in your cunt. Eddie is smirking at your impatience to getting his shirt unbuttoned, but he doesn’t help you, privy to your momentary desire to lead. When it’s finally off and pooling onto the floor, you can hardly deal with the debaucherous sight in front of you. That silver chain is thick around his neck, not too much, but enough, showcasing all of his delicious tattoos. You’re panting heavily, eyes blurring with tears of raw want.

Eddie is glad he decided to trade an older amp to afford the new piece, admiring your shameless observation of him, as if he’s your meal and you’re about to descend like a vulture. However, you’re a goddess, a strength for those around you (Eddie included), so vulture isn’t a correct comparison. Your pupils are gone beneath two black oceans, a ravenous gravity sucking you into Eddie. He’s waiting…jugular exposed for your taking. You launch into him full on, chest to chest, and you take.

Your mouth is biting a pattern of plum colored bruises up the hollow of his neck, flicking your tongue across his jugular, sucking his Adam’s apple, enjoying its bobbing beneath your muscle. Your left hand cups his necks’ nape, the other remaining fisted in his chain. He’s whimpering appreciatively, swelling in the confines of his sleek slacks. “Oh, fuck. That’s it, sweetheart. Show me who I belong to.”

That really revs your engine, your posture caving in and falling back onto the bed, taking him between your knees as he hovers, his necklace pressing into your mouth in a brief dangle. He giggles, poking your nose, lacing his hands through yours and pinning them above you, burrowing that plump set of lips under your jawline.

“Eds… Yeah, Eddie. Fuck, baby boy.” Your pleas go straight to his dick, which he takes your hand and slithers it down to cup over his bulge, rutting against the friction. He chokes out that little moan he does, it vibrating off your throat.

“You want me, m’lady? Want me to pry open these perfect thighs and fuck you nice and slow, fuck you good and stupid for me?”

You whine, arching with a sting to your spine at the steep angle. Eddie grips your chin, rings jutting into the skin. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“You know I need you, Eds. Want…” And you stop yourself, heart rate slowing, body feeling as if you’ve tumbled down a cliff and are free falling. It’s pretty clear the exact craving you’ve just realized you’re having to have. But you’re unsure about Eddie’s reaction, or if he’ll be upset. After all, you’ve never been risky in that way.

Eddie sees the change immediately and picks himself up, bringing you along. “Honey, what’s wrong? And please, please don’t say ‘nothing’. Don’t bullshit me, babe, cause’ I know you better than the back of my own hand, and that sucker has seen some shit in his time.”

“It’s nothing bad.” you start. “At least, I don’t think so…”

He frowns. “Is it… y’ know, hanky panky related?” He says the words in a teasing depth, making you lose yourself in a giggle. It helps tremendously. You incline your head in a manner that tells him, yes, it is indeed.

“Then lay it on me. Literally. I’m all yours, babe.” He entwines his fingers with yours, bringing them to his mouth to press chaste kisses to.

There’s a roaring that’s pummeling your adrenaline, heart beat thumping in your ears, a cold chill brushing your flesh. You let yourself swallow once for good measure, tongue licking your lips, and then you release it into the open air.

“Eddie, I want you to cum inside of me. No condom this time, just you.” You look at him beneath your lashes, vision hazy, heart rate stalled, caught between the sheets with baited breath as you await his answer.

Eddie’s surprise is evident on his face. A thoughtful pause, a lip purse, and then his tongue is poking out in concentration. And as if it’s not anymore possible than it’s already been shown — his pupils expand, leaving murky caverns in their wake. He inhales sharply, beginning to lean in to cage you like fresh prey, his tone raspy and compliant. “It’s pretty dangerous letting a guy like me fuck you without protection, don’t you think? I mean… what if I put a little one in here?” He touches your tummy over the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Then she or he will have the prettiest eyes and the curliest hair. But we don’t have to worry about that right now. I’m on the pill too, remember? We’re just… taking away one layer?” Is your automatic response, trembling into his hold, burning up at the thought of his child growing inside you, making something that’s yours and his alone. You think about it. Eddie thinks about it.

Sometimes…

Eddie, still trapped in motion due to his surprise at your proposition, is having a hard time not pouncing on you and pounding you into the mattress on the spot. He slides between your split knees, thumbs brushing along each corner of your mouth. You don’t have to say anything more to convince him, his unbearable hardness is proof enough. Your hands fumble behind you to slip underneath your top and fling it off, it landing somewhere in the room. Eddie attacks your exposed shoulder, snapping his fingers beneath your bra strap and tugging it down until it slips off.

You hold him to your bosom by the back of his neck, helping yourself to pulling on his hair, enjoying the tresses weaving in between your fingers. His new chain traces along your skin as it dangles, drags, a cool stimulant. You let him work on your jawline and neck with that god given mouth full of perfection and promise, working your spare hand down and into your pants, going straight inside your soaked underwear. It’s a sweet sigh that tumbles from your mouth when you make contact with your clit, swirling a bit of slick around the bud and mewling. Eddie’s smacking noises cease, his eyes drifting to your naughty show.

He’s marveling. “Fuck. Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Play with your little pussy for me.”

“So fucking wet for you it’s disgusting, baby boy.” You coo, yanking at his stray curl.

He drops his nose to yours, sharing trickles of hot air onto your mouth from his. “Add a finger inside of yourself.”

He peers to watch your hand shift and that overly embarrassing first squelch inside is loud. Eddie takes your mouth roughly, rolling his hips into your trapped hand, thrusting for a form of relief, whatever that may be.

“Don’t have to be jealous of your pretty little fingers when they get to fuck that cunt, cause’ now I’ll know how it feels with —“ He nips your neck. “nothing but skin.”

“Where you belong…” You trail off into a simpering whimper.

“Just think about how you’re gonna feel every single inch of me, Y/N.” It’s a quiet beat and Eddie is flipping you with that hidden strength he possesses, tugging your legs off the bed. Hand still in your panties, on your stomach, you don’t stop touching yourself for him, lifting your hips so he can take off your pants and panties, as you greedily thrust that finger in and out of your cunt.

“You’re not sharing.” You are well aware he is staring, but you’re far too gone, especially within this vivid position.

“Eat me, Munson.” You pant, adding a second finger, trying to get yourself ready to take him.

“Why? You want me to, brat?”

Your eyes widen and you don’t have time to answer, Eddie’s hands hoisting your knees into a propped position, backhanding your ass cheek, the flesh taking the brunt of his rings. He buries his face into your dripping cunt, biting your fingers as they slip from you, mumbling about how you bugged him to do the laundry and now you’re both gonna destroy the clean sheets. You only respond by reaching back and pulling his face into you, no longer shy about taking what you want, what’s yours. Eddie is slurping sloppily, smothering himself in your juices, encouraging you to ride his face like it’s your last day on earth. With your hand on the mattress, the other threading through his long locks, you rock your hips until it burns to stay upright, that tightening knocking on your abdomen far quicker than you’re prepared for.

You begin to shake, thighs closing around his head, messing the blankets up from your burrowing ride. “M’ gonna cum on your mouth, Eds. Please, please.

His answer is to add in two of his fingers, sucking your clit in between those plump lips. Your vision swims with shapes as you hold yourself, rubbing your cunt over that slight stubble, riding his fingers, his rings catching on your labia only adding to your climax. Eddie’s downright moaning into your pussy when you cum, releasing your grip on his mane and falling forward in the beginning stages of exhaustion. You roll back over onto your back, clad in just your bra, knees wide open, a smile decorating your wet mouth. Eddie is bursting at his very seams, pride and love for you, pure adoration.

He climbs over top of you, slotting himself between your thighs, hand cradling your jaw and fingers splaying over your ear, his mouth and chin covered in your arousal. He grins and you stifle a giggle, kissing him, palming his rock hard cock over the slacks. “Poor baby, do you need somethin’?”

Eddie licks his teeth, pins your hands above your head. “Mouthy little witch. My own personal enchantress, the way you tease me so.”

“I can tell it’s… hard to take.” You wiggle a suggestive brow.

Eddie releases your hands, then lifts you enough to unsnap your bra, choosing that as his comeback to your continuous sass. You’re completely nude under him, nipples reacting to the temperate change and stimulating drag of his chest across yours, chest hair tickling you. You take the opportunity to work on his pants, getting them down with his boxers, his cock getting caught on the fabric. You give it a gentle tug and it’s slapping against his stomach, smearing pre-cum in his happy trail. You can’t stop yourself from what’s to come, imagining how warm it’ll feel, how his cum will soak your walls, furthering his claim.

You slide his cock through your folds, slapping it into the wetness, pushing the soft head against your clit and closing your legs. You can’t speak, it’s all so much right now. Luckily, Eddie takes care of that for you both.

“S’ a real good girl. Letting me cum in your pussy like this.” He’s watching your movements, stomping his legs in kicks and getting his remaining clothing off, holding himself up on his palms, working his cock back and forth in your swollen folds. It’s a sticky, dripping mess.

Normally, this is the point Eddie would reach for a condom, but instead, he looks towards the drawer. “Still okay if I take you without one, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Wanna see you, though.”

Eddie reluctantly pries himself away, hobbling rather comically into a cross-legged position, holding himself at the patch of dark curls. “Come and take your seat, baby.”

That pitter patter latches onto your insides, yanking them into your ass. You feel your cunt drizzling your slick as you make your way towards Eddie and climb onto his lap, locking your ankles around his waist, shifting just so. He taps his fingertips against the swell of your breast. “Don’t hold your breath, baby. Don’t close your eyes, either. I want you to look at me when I put my dick inside of you.”

“O-okay. Hurry, I need you, baby boy.”

You spread your labia apart as Eddie complies, tapping the head around your opening, pushing it past the muscle and into the soft, slippery heat of your cunt. It hurts, badly. This deep angle, the defined stretch you get off on. And there’s no barrier to get in the way. It’s all Eddie, it’s all you.

His eyes are wide and his jaw is slack. His abdomen tenses, muscles flexing. He pulsates inside you the second his balls rest against your ass. Your quivering breaths are broken and speech is beyond your capabilities. Eddie snatches your hands that have unknowingly clenched into the bedsheets beside you, squeezing, forehead dropping atop yours.

His lips pucker for an easy kiss, nuzzling your nose. “Holy Christ, baby. I can’t believe how fuckin’ warm and wet it is in here.”

You don’t mean to, but you clamp down on him, causing him to rock his hips and a hiss leaves your mouth. “Shit, shit. We just gotta stay still for a few, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you, princess. And m’ in pretty deep this time.”

You whine in agreement, eyes trailing down to the chain that rests between your breasts that stay squished into Eddie’s tattooed chest. You don’t dare look away, both of you wanting to partake in the intensity of this intimacy. Eddie holds you, peppering kisses here and there on your face and neck until the burn dulls into that aching sting. He cups your jaw, stroking his fingers along your jugular. “Ready to be fucked raw?”

His double ended meaning has you snorting, purposely bearing down on him and rolling your hips. A combined gasp is heard. It’s the fullest you’ve felt, and the most safe. Eddie is thick and hot inside you, nestled heavily in the sopping wet confines of your walls. It’s overwhelming and he knows it too. Placing one hand on your lower back, the other keeping yours held, he tilts his head as if to ask permission. “Yeah?”

“Fuck this bad day right outta your brat, Eds. Cum in her greedy little pussy. Show her who owns it.” You finger the chain with your spare hand, nails scratching at Eddie’s knuckles, circling the ring shapes that adorn his fingers.

“You and that nasty mouth, princess. Remind me to fuck it later, hmm?”

Difficult to establish in this new position you’ve rarely tried, it takes a few minutes to gain a rhythm that is driving Eddie as deep as he can go, his cock nailing that spongey spot inside of your cunt. It takes everything in you to hold on and to not push him on his back and have your way with him like your own personal rodeo. His chest is perspired and flushed, his freckles more prominent, his pupils reflective through the haze of his lust, and his curls tangle to his forehead. He’s giving slowly, languid thrusts that wreck you from head to toe, and you are beckoned into his every push on your waist, guiding you through.

Your toes are curling, a cold tingle snapping at your thighs, blood rushing, heart rate churning. Eddie lets go of your connected hands to accompany the feeling of your oncoming orgasm, as he recognizes the familiar signs, and feels you getting tighter around him, drowning his dick in your cream. His strokes your clit with expertise, mouth hovering over yours, just so. “Know you’re gonna cum, princess. You’re so fucking wet that I don’t think I can last much longer for you.”

You knot your grip into his hair, tugging it to the side and licking a crude stripe up his neck, finding the shell of his ear. “Then lay me down and… what were your words again? Fuck me stupid?”

Eddie makes a rogue noise, falling back onto the bed and shoving you beneath him, nudging your legs apart roughly, holding his soaked dick and pressing it back into you. His slick covered happy trail drags your clit with every upstroke and it’s totaling you, your eyes rolling back. Eddie is cursing, powering through it. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s it, wanna know how it feels like this when you cum. Just like that.”

Your back arches, legs lifting around Eddie’s slender waist, hands clenching into his shoulder blades, and that coil tightens into such a sharp ache that your eyes fill with tears and you cry out his name like a mantra on the day of worship. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!”

Your orgasm pouring over his cock is enough to smack his insides into a frenzy. He reaches for your breasts, palms them, then seeks out your hands. He’s extra needy. That means he’s close, right there.

“I’m… Y/N, baby. Can I, PLEASE?”

“Cum inside me, Eds. Come on, baby boy.” You lick at his mouth, his stuttering hips stalling and his ass flexing beneath your ankles.

You cry out when he tenses up and throbs, a warmth spurting thickly throughout your cunt, mixing in with your orgasm, Eddie letting a drawn out moan work itself from the depths of his diaphragm. Too fucking good to speak anything but a broken syllable of your name. “Y/N…”

He falls into your body, sex tainted skin sticking together, hearts racing wildly. You brush his hair back, kissing the crown of his forehead. He pecks your neck, fitting his face into the curvature of your neck and shoulder. Neither of you say anything, enjoying the sound of the Autumn breeze outside and labored breathing attempting to stabilize. It goes on like that for what feels like hours, but Eddie lifts his head to check in with you.

“Are we feeling any better?”

Sometimes… Eddie Munson is all you need to make a bad day better.

~*~

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